Heart's Demise
by jessicakaycobb
Summary: As Hermione delves further into her past, Draco is more concerned with the uncertain future...Will their love be enough to pull them through as others who don't approve scheme against them? -- Sequel to Change of Heart.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N 1 : Before you begin reading, please note that this is a sequel to another story I've written. I'm sure that you've realized that by now, as it's in the title and summary. So please read that story first - it's in my profile here at ffnet - if you don't, quite a bit of this story won't make any sense to you. Otherwise, enjoy! :D**

* * *

A small figure, bundled in numerous scarves and a black woolen coat, stood huddled against the wind at the wrought iron gate, shivering slightly. A mass of slightly out-of-control brown hair was barley covered by the simple knitted hat the girl - for it was now discernable that it was a girl - had pulled down over her untidy curls.

She shivered and pulled her thick coat closer around her, blocking out the icy wind that was now swirling with white snow. She looked around her.

Rows and rows of cold, marble slabs and stones stretched before her under the grey sky. Yes, this was the place. The wind died down for a moment, and she blinked, wiping at the soft snow that had fluttered onto her eyelashes; and something else - hot tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes so suddenly she was honestly surprised at their appearance.

With a shaking hand, she lifted the latch on the gate and pushed; it creaked open slowly. She took a deep, steadying breath and stepped through. There. That was the hardest part.

Her feet carried her down row after row, searching; her heart jolting harshly with every new stone, only to find her breath catch sharply in her throat as she realized again and again that it wasn't the one she was searching for. After a few of these false alarms, she began to wonder if she wanted to actually find the right one at all.

She had almost made up her mind that she wasn't ready for this, after all, when her eyes suddenly fell upon a simple brown stone under the low, spreading branches of a small tree, and her heart stopped altogether.

It was them. She'd found them at last.

Without even realizing she was doing it, she dropped to her knees in the cold, wet snow next to the roughly-hewn stone; the single red rose she had been clutching fell from her fingers as she traced the names engraved on the rock: _Phillip and Moira DuMont_.

There was a moment when she didn't know if she wanted to laugh or scream. _The unfairness of it all!_ she thought wildly. How terrible that this young couple would never know the woman their daughter would grow up to become. How sad that she would never hug them, never know what their voices sounded like. The tears came streaming down her cheeks at last. She didn't try to stop their flow. Suddenly, the snow stopped flurrying around her.

And now she was getting married, and they wouldn't be there! She wished there were some way to bring them back, just for one day, but she knew that even magic had its limits. There was no way back from the other side of the veil.

She threw herself on the cold ground in front of the headstone, pressing herself as closely as possible to the parents she couldn't remember.

The clouds looked for a moment as though they might weep with her, to share in her sorrow and anguish, but then they seemed to think better of it, and began to move. A small sliver of sunlight pushed its way through the cloudcover and shone down - almost miraculously - onto the patch of ground where the girl lay, stretched out over her parents' shared grave.

She didn't notice it at first, but then the beam of light grew brighter, and soon the sun was completely out from behind the clouds, shining cheerfully and hopefully in the small patch of blue now revealed in the sky. It seemed to be smiling at her.

She pushed herself to a sitting position and gazed up at it. Then she looked at the place where her parents lay. She gasped.

The rose she had dropped was a single rose no longer. It had somehow transformed into a complete _rosebush_, planted neatly beside the headstone and in full bloom, even though it was the dead of winter. The bright red of the petals stood out defiantly against the barren whiteness around them.

There was no simple and logical explanation for this, even within the bounds of magic, she knew. And yet, here it was, in living color in front of her eyes, a complete and utter impossibility that had no other name for it than Miracle. It was a miracle.

She stayed by her parents' side for the rest of the afternoon as the air became increasingly warmer and calmer than it had been when she first arrived. She spoke to them, telling them all about herself and the life she had been living since they'd last seen her - she'd only been a few months old when they died.

She told them about Hogwarts and the adventures she'd shared with Harry and Ron. She told them about the years since the war had ended when she really hadn't felt much purpose in her life.

She told them about Draco.

"I really think you would like him," she said thoughtfully, gazing up at a small bird that had perched itself in the branch of the small tree she was sitting under and had begun to sing as if it would never sing again. "He's changed so much and I…I love him more than I ever thought I could ever love anyone. I wonder if what we have is anything like what you had together…"

Finally, when the sun was low in the afternoon sky, she looked around and decided she had better go home. She kissed the petals of one of the roses and whispered a promise to return soon.

* * *

Draco lounged on the couch in his apartment, staring blankly up at the ceiling and trying to decide if he'd made the right decision by staying home while Hermione went to find her parents' graves.

Of course he should have gone with her! What an idiot he was for letting her go by herself!

But then, he felt completely alien to what she must be feeling right now. It wasn't his grief, and he would only be intruding.

He hated the thought of her being alone, possibly crying - oh, who was he kidding, _probably_ crying - and he couldn't do anything to stop the pain. This was pain he couldn't touch.

He wondered what kind of husband he would make her if he couldn't even go with her on this day of all days.

Draco's thought began to drift to their engagement. He was free now from the magical contract that had bound him since birth. He hadn't known it at the time, but that split second that he had died had somehow freed him. He was, as his mother had explained, "reborn" in a sense, and free. So he didn't have to get married now if he didn't want to.

It was just…he wanted to. Didn't he? Well, not right away, certainly. They were far too young, weren't they? Of course he wanted to marry her someday, though! He loved her. But they had a good thing going just now, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to mess that up by throwing an extra ring into the situation.

The only example of marriage he had to draw from was the only one he'd ever seen, really: his parents. And that example certainly didn't create within him any fuzzy feelings for the institution; his parents didn't love each other the way Draco and Hermione did. Or perhaps they had, once, and marriage had somehow tainted their love and twisted it into what it was now.

It was enough to make Draco consider staying engaged for the rest of his life.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a large, extravagant townhouse on the other side of the country, someone was picking up a newspaper with the headline:

_**On Again, Off Again is On AGAIN: Hermione Granger to Wed Draco Malfoy After All (details, page7)**_

"Oh, _really?_ He decided to marry that - _trash_ - after all? Well, we might just have to see about that…"

Thin white fingers picked up an expensive quill, dipped it into a crystal inkwell and began to write.

* * *

**A/N 2 : Well, I'm back! Sorry for the sad beginning…and the lack of title. But those of you who know me know that I almost never name my stories right away - I hold contests! The same holds true for this story. About five or so chapters in, I'm going to ask for suggestions (don't send any yet, you don't even know how this is going to go yet, lol). Also, sorry for the shaky start this story had...just so you know, it's all fix-ed now! Yay! :D **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N : So here we go. Hopefully, everyone read the RIGHT first chapter (glares evilly at ffnet) this time and are all caught up on the story now. But if you haven't, or you're not sure if you read the right one before, go back now and read the first chapter. I really, really hope that nothing like this happens again, and I'm thankful for the reviews I got from those of you after my ranting A/N chapter, lol. Thanks guys! In order to fix the travesty of a problem I had with chapters and such, I had to delete the old story (just here on ffnet) and create a new one, so I lost all your lovely reviews, sorry! I really couldn't figure out a better way to do it. And thanks to everyone who is sticking with me on this...I never imagined it would be so complicated!**

* * *

Draco received an owl from Hermione that night, saying that she was tired and wanted to go to bed early and she would see him the next day.

He sighed, wondering if she was upset that he hadn't even bothered to ask if she wanted him to go with her the previous afternoon. He hoped she wasn't angry, and he almost thought of Apparating over to her apartment to apologize.

In the end, he decided to plan something nice for her the next day. At least he could make it up to her.

* * *

Hermione woke the next morning as the sunlight streamed through her window. She yawned and stretched, feeling as if she could have slept for a few more hours, at least, and was about to turn over and do just that when she noticed there was something strange about the bedclothes.

Her eyes shot open and she gasped when she looked around. Rose petals were scattered all over her bed, red and white and pink, and also strewn over her carpet and every flat surface in her bedroom.

"What in the world?" she breathed. Her eyes fell on her bedside table, where a single yellow rose stood in a crystal vase, with a card beside it bearing her name. She caught it up and opened it quickly.

_I'm sorry that I didn't go with you yesterday._

_Let me make it up to you today._

_Draco_

Hermione couldn't help the grin that was creeping over her face. He thought she was upset for him not coming with her yesterday? How sweet; but of course she wasn't upset with him. After all, hadn't she insisted that she go by herself? If he wanted to make it up to her, though, who was she to stop him?

She slipped out of bed, wondering what he had in store for her. What should she do now? The note hadn't said anything about what they were doing, or even where to meet him. Shrugging, she decided to get dressed; wherever they were going, she was pretty sure it wouldn't be appropriate to wear her pajamas.

Ten minutes later, she was dressed and ready, standing in the middle of her living room. _What next?_ Then she spotted another note sitting on the coffee table; a note that definitely had not been there a few seconds before. She picked it up and opened it. It read:

_Downstairs._

Hermione laughed. Shrugging her shoulders, she headed out the door. When she reached the lobby of her apartment building, she was immediately hailed by the doorman, who pointed outside with a sly grin.

When she walked out the glass double doors, she had to laugh again. A black Muggle stretch limousine was parked in front of her building, and a young man in uniform stood at attention beside the back door. Hermione wondered if he was a wizard or a Muggle. She didn't have to wonder long.

"Nice day, eh, Miss? Powerful lot of people dressed up for the fair, aren't there? In you go, that's right, watch yer head, m'um," he said as he helped her into the backseat. His expression was one of dazed contentment, and she knew that his memory had been modified. She didn't really know how she felt about that. She wondered whose idea it was to alter the poor boy's memory in the first place.

When she had seated herself in the spacious backseat of the limousine, she glanced around. Fortunately, no charms had been placed on the interior of the car; she rather felt as if it would have been going a _bit_ too far if there had been. On the seat across from her was another note.

_I hope you haven't had breakfast yet._

Hermione almost growled at it. If she had to read one more note that told her basically _nothing_, she was going to scream. But she sighed and rolled her eyes and settled back on the comfortable leather seat. She could get used to this.

A few minutes later, the car stopped, and Hermione looked out the window to see where they were. It was a small café, totally unimpressive and actually sort of dilapidated-looking, if she was completely honest with herself. She glanced up at the dark window that separated her from the driver. Was this the right place?

As if on cue, the driver let the window down and looked back over his shoulder.

"'Ere we are, Miss, though I can't imagine why the gentleman wanted you to come to _this_ place," he called to her. Hermione's mouth fell open slightly. Was she supposed to just get out and go in there by herself?

The door handle clicked from behind her and she spun around in her seat, her hand flying to her wand, preparing to defend herself and the driver if need be. The door swung open.

"Are you always this friendly?"

Hermione let out a long, deep sigh with a growl at the end of it.

"Draco! You scared me! What in the world are you doing?" she snapped. Draco chuckled and held out his hand.

"Offering to help you out of the car," he replied with a dazzlingly perfect smile. Hermione took his hand and stepped onto the sidewalk.

"Wait," she said suddenly, and she stuck her head back in the door.

"Thank you," she said politely to the driver. He tipped his hat to her and grinned. Then she straightened up and took Draco's hand again. "Now we can go."

"That was nice of you," he said, with a touch of sarcasm.

"Did you modify his memory?" she asked sharply, and Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a yes," she added grumpily.

"Don't be that way, love," he replied, tilting her chin up with his index finger, which she batted away. "Don't you want the rest of your surprise?"

"I guess," she grumbled, "but you know I don't like surprises. Where are we, anyway?" she asked suddenly, looking up at the shabby-looking café again. They were now standing in the doorway.

"Someplace special," he replied enigmatically.

They walked through the doorway, seemingly into the dusty interior of the café. As they passed through however, it disappeared completely and they were standing in the lobby of a _very_ lavish hotel. She looked at Draco, surprise evident on her face, and he smirked.

"Welcome to the _Enchanted_," he said, gesturing around them grandly, apparently enjoying her expression hugely; his own face was adorned with his characteristic smirk. Then he offered her his arm and led her through the lobby, past the main desk, where the manager smiled and bowed slightly, and through a set of large, ornate double doors.

The restaurant they entered into was so beautiful that Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was painted with scenes of angels and clouds that kept moving around; the chubby little cherubs were whispering among themselves about the various guests. The tables were covered in white linen and set with golden and crystal dinnerware.

Draco led her to a table that had obviously been prepared especially for them. A waiter stood beside it, ready and waiting to serve them. Draco pulled out a chair for Hermione, and she sat. He pushed it under for her and then seated himself across the table.

"Do you like your surprise?" he asked her when they had ordered their breakfast. Hermione grinned at him.

"It's all very nice, but - I mean, what's the special occasion?" she asked curiously. Draco shrugged.

"It's Sunday," he replied simply. Hermione giggled. She supposed that this was the Draco Malfoy equivalent of breakfast-in-bed.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. He laced their fingers together.

"I just wanted to do something nice for you," he replied, and when their eyes met again, all his charm and the showiness that tended to come out in him melted away, and he was simply Draco. She loved him best when he was just Draco.

"I love you."

"That's good, because I love you, too," he replied, leaning across the table to show her just how much.

* * *

**A/N 2 : Ugh. I'm not much for fluffiness. This isn't my favorite chapter that I've ever written, but I hope (actually I'm banking on the fact) that you didn't mind too much. All the butterflies and unicorns and fluffy clouds…:suppresses a shudder:**

**I think that it just bothers me to have a chapter full of - ugh - **_**happiness**_** without any conflict to temper it and make it **_**real**_**. Those of you who know me pretty well will understand what I mean. And I'm not leaving them alone for long. But for now, they're happy, and I hope you guys will be, too! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N : Sorry about the wait, folks! Hope you enjoy this chapter! **

**--**

A tawny owl soared over the treetops in the starlit sky, its wings barely grazing the tips of the topmost branches as it flew. Suddenly it went into a dive, gliding into the open window of an old-fashioned manor house and onto a perch that seemed to have been waiting for it.

"Archimedes," a wispy blonde girl said, looking up from her chair by the fire with a mild expression of surprise on her pretty face. The bird ignored her completely and began cleaning its feathers. "What are you doing here?"

The owl hooted twice and held out its left leg, where a scroll was tied with a green silk ribbon.

"Astoria," the girl sighed, rising from her chair as she rolled her eyes. She crossed the room to remove the scroll. Her thin, pale fingers fumbled with the ribbon, almost as if she hadn't the strength to untie the knots. "What does my darling sister want _this_ time?"

As she scanned the note, she drew a sharp intake of breath, and her expression changed to shock and mild disgust. "So it _is_ true," she breathed. "I had wondered…but then…"

She finished reading her letter and dropped into the nearest chair - in front of an ornate mahogany writing desk - and let her head fall into her hands, apparently deep in thought. Suddenly she lifted her head and gazed into the mirror that was situated just in front of the desk. Leaning her cheek upon her hand, she sighed.

"I wonder if I should…but if I _didn't_ help her, she would make quite a fool of herself," she mused aloud to her reflection.

"Certainly, with the state of our family's current affairs…even the mention of being connected with someone from his family could possibly return our status…I must admit that it has been a harsh few years since the end of the war," she continued, pulling a blank piece of parchment to her and tracing her fingers over its surface absently.

"Of course, I would have to do the thinking in this; Astoria is many things, but clever isn't one of them," she added with a wry laugh. "If it hadn't been for Father's influence, she might not have made it through school…But still. If I help her, she could possibly do the thing that would bring us back to our rightful place."

"To marry a Malfoy!" she breathed, gazing into her own reflected eyes in the mirror once more. They glinted in the candlelight. "Still influential and powerful even after the end of the war…still extremely wealthy, as well…"

Here she glanced around at the comfortable room and all the luxuries it offered - roaring fire; deep, rich armchairs; lavish ornaments of silver and gold - and heaved another deep sigh. Apparently the girl was used to more, perhaps a few servants or richer furnishings; whatever it was, she appeared more determined as she reached for a quill and dipped it into a nearby inkwell.

She glanced again at the letter now lying on the table, and her expression grew troubled once more.

"And as for _him_…I can't believe that he would lower himself to that level! I mean, the _filth_…how his parents can allow him to continue with this is beyond reason. I shouldn't wonder if she slipped him a potion, or perhaps Confounded him…" she trailed off. "I must save him from himself, and save our family's name in the process," she continued, beginning to pen a reply to her sister.

She paused. "But how?"

Suddenly, her face lit up with a glow that served to make her pretty face seem slightly distorted, almost inhuman. Her frame, which had been hunched over the desk and seemed rather weak and fragile, suddenly seemed filled with a power that didn't belong to her. Her back straightened, and her eyes met those of her mirror self.

"That's _it_," she breathed, hardly daring to speak above a whisper, hardly daring, it seemed, to believe her incredible luck at formulating such a solution to her problem.

Immediately she re-inked her quill and began to write. When she finished, she rolled the parchment up into a scroll and sealed it with wax from the candle at her elbow. Then she crossed the room to tie her response to the owl's leg.

Archimedes, it seemed, had fallen asleep on his perch. He did not seem particularly pleased to be roused from his slumber, either. He hooted in an annoyed sort of way and nipped at the girl's finger as she began to tie her message to his leg.

"Oh, come off it, you stupid bird," she mumbled, finally succeeding in attaching the scroll. Archimedes gave her one last reproachful look before soaring off into the lightening sky. Dawn was breaking; the inky black sky was slowly turning gray, then lighter and lighter until it touched the horizon, where a thin line of red was slowly forming.

--

"If you're not down here in exactly three seconds, I'm leaving without you!"

"Oh, hold your horses, for goodness sake! We're going to be early as it is, and it's not as if we're having tea with the queen or anything," Hermione huffed, flouncing down the stairs at last. Draco gave her one last irritated glance before grabbing her elbow and turning on the spot, Apparating them from the cozy warmth of his living room and right into the cold autumn air of the Manor's front lawn.

"You're right," Draco replied as if nothing had happened. "We aren't having tea with the queen; we're having tea with my grandmother, which is almost exactly the same thing. Except perhaps that you've got to mind your manners more in this case."

Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched her arm away from Draco in a huff. She never liked it when he Apparated them together, as if she were some child who couldn't do it herself.

"Please, since when do I care what your family thinks of me?" she sniffed, nose in the air.

"You know," Draco said thoughtfully, taking her defiant chin in his hand and turning it this way and that, "you shouldn't stick your pretty little nose up like that. It doesn't become you. Better you leave it to the professionals."

Hermione growled and bit at his hand. Draco laughed.

"There. That's better. Now," he added, offering his arm for her to take, "shall we descend into the pit of snakes together, then?"

Sighing, Hermione took his arm and let him lead her up the front steps of the Manor. Her eyes flitted over the large, foreboding house and she shivered slightly. Even the fact that she had at least one ally (in the form of Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother) inside the big house, she couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding she felt as the great oak doors swung open of their own accord and they stepped inside.

"Oh, thank heavens you've arrived, darling!" Hermione almost jumped out of her skin as the thin, high voice echoed - too loud - in the gleaming, quiet entranceway. A very harassed-looking Narcissa took Hermione's cloak in a distracted sort of way. Draco bent down to kiss his mother's cheek, but she barely seemed to notice.

"Your - _grandmother_," she began, saying the word like it was an expletive, with a slight shudder as she did so, "is waiting for the two of you in the drawing room. I hope you've brought your dragon-skinned gloves, Ducky; you know she needs to be handled with care under normal circumstances, and since you're a bit late - "

"Told you so," Draco muttered under his breath as an aside to Hermione. She barely heard him, her mind was still spinning from the dragon-skinned gloves comment. _What in the world?_

" - well, you understand, darling," Narcissa continued. Her eyes fell on Hermione at last. She placed a cool hand on Hermione's cheek, the expression on her face suddenly changing to what could only be described as pity. "Hermione, dear, I honestly hate to send you in there alone like this - " Draco snorted loudly from beside her, " - but Mother Malfoy and I don't - exactly - get along. She actually forbade me from the room," she added, now scowling at the door, and looking as if she might storm in there anyway. Only her apparent dislike and - was that - _fear?_ - seemed to be keeping her out of that room.

"In my own house, no less," she muttered as Draco pushed Hermione toward the now-terrifying double doors of the drawing room.

Hermione gulped. What was waiting inside for her?

--

**A/N 2 : What do you guys think about chapter previews? Personally, I hate reading them, but I love tacking them on to the end of my chapters and tormenting **_**you**_**. It's great fun. Let me know what you guys think, and I'll decide next time! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N : Sorry again for the long wait! I've been on vacation in Maryland for a week and haven't been able to update. Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Sorry that I haven't been able to reply to each one individually. Maybe I'll do better this time! Enjoy!**

* * *

"I suppose you imagined making me wait would ensure you a grand entrance."

Hermione couldn't see where the voice was coming from as she glanced around the large drawing room nervously. The voice was warm, friendly even, but there was no mistaking the venom in the words. Despite her apprehension over meeting Draco's grandmother, she felt color rising in her cheeks, and resisted the urge to give a loud snort. They were _not_ late.

Draco shot her a warning glance, as if he could read her thoughts. Hermione took a deep breath and forced the anger down until it was mere annoyance.

"Ah, but I won't be around forever," the voice sighed, and Hermione finally saw the back of the high-backed chair, tucked away in the corner and facing one of the wide windows. Draco rolled his eyes and began to cross the room, pulling Hermione with him.

"Grandmother," he said finally, rounding the corner of the chair and smiling a charming smile Hermione recognized at once - how many times had she seen him turn that very smile on a teacher when they were still in school?

"Draco," the voice, Grandmother Malfoy, acknowledged. Draco bent to kiss her cheek, and Hermione peered cautiously over the top of the chair.

The first thing that surprised her was the shock of black hair; if there was one thing that she'd been expecting, it was for Draco's grandmother to have the same white-blonde hair as her son and grandson, possibly snowy white with age. But the hair that was piled on top of her head was sleek and dark, coiled elegantly and sinuously in the fashion of an older time and pinned in place with several emerald studded hair combs.

"If your young…_friend_ is quite through ogling me over the back of the chair, you might introduce us, Draco."

Hermione started. Recovering herself, she stepped as gracefully as she could from behind the chair to stand next to Draco, a few inches closer than was strictly necessary. So Grandmother Malfoy wasn't going to use the word _fiancé._ The battle lines were clearly drawn, and Hermione wasn't going to just lay there and let this woman walk over her like that.

She had a hard time keeping her face smooth and expressionless, though, especially now that she was looking full in the face of the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen.

There was no way this woman was old enough to be Lucius's mother. She looked like she might have been thirty-five, possibly forty. Her skin was smooth and pale; her shocking violet eyes were big and bright. She surveyed Hermione with the air of a queen who was about to sentence someone to be hanged.

Hermione glanced up at Draco, under the pretense of waiting to be introduced, but really shouting a million silent questions at him. _Is this some kind of joke? Who is this woman? _Draco's expression was completely unreadable, and he seemed to be avoiding her gaze as he cleared his throat.

"Grandmother, this is Hermione Granger," he began, placing a hand on the small of Hermione's back as he spoke. "My fiancé."

All the air seemed to rush back into her lungs on the word. At least Draco was going to stand beside her.

To Hermione's immense pleasure, _Grandmother_ Malfoy didn't seem at all pleased with the way this interview was going. Her nose crinkled as if there were something bad-smelling underneath it. She sighed.

"I thought perhaps there might have been a mistake, or at the very least that this were your idea of a prank, Draco," she began, and Hermione scowled openly now. A prank, was it? Her hand twitched towards the pocket where her wand lay, but she held herself steady, thinking Draco might not like it if she cursed his grandmother into bits right in front of him.

"No mistake, Grandmother; and I think you know me a bit better than to suspect that I would take becoming engaged so lightly," he smirked a bit on the last words, and Hermione knew he was thinking of last year when he had pretended to be engaged to get out of a magically binding contract. If she hadn't been so infuriated, she might have smiled as well.

"There's no talking you out of this, then?"

"Not a chance."

"Well, then, my _dear_," Grandmother Malfoy continued, addressing Hermione now and stressing the word with extra venom and contempt, "come closer so that I may get a better look at you."

Hermione thought about flatly refusing, about, perhaps, taking her wand from the inside pocket of her robes and showing that woman what she could get a better look at. But she paused when she glanced up at Draco's face again. His eyes were pleading, and she knew he wanted to make a good impression. She wouldn't deny him that.

She took a step closer to the woman in the chair. Grandmother Malfoy sighed and cast a long-suffering glance at her grandson.

"Ah, Draco, when I think of the beauties you could have had!" She turned her attention back to Hermione, who was trying very hard not to scream. "Closer, my dear!" Hermione took another step.

"You parents were Phillip DuMont and Moira Astell, were they not?" At Hermione's tight nod, she continued. "I remember them well; I used to tell Abraxas that it was only a matter of time…"

Hermione wasn't sure what she had been going to add there…only a matter of time until _what_, exactly? She didn't dare ask for fear that she might say something she would regret later. Or that Draco would regret later.

"But the past is the past," Grandmother Malfoy added brusquely. "What matters now is the _future_. You wish to marry my grandson?"

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Yes, I do," she said defiantly, tilting her chin up slightly.

"So _proud_. May I ask why you wish to tether yourself to young Draco?"

Hermione paused, slightly taken aback.

"Well, I love him," she stammered, confused. Grandmother Malfoy's mouth drew into a thin line.

"Do you, now? Well, I'm sure you do, my dear, and the fact that he's incredibly wealthy has nothing to do with it," she said, sounding anything but sure. "You attended Hogwarts, is that correct?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "What was your class rank, then? You did graduate?"

"Yes, of course I did," Hermione snapped. Seeing Draco's face, however, she modified her answer. "I went back after the war ended to finish my seventh year, just as Draco did. I was Head Girl." She blushed slightly; even though she wanted Draco's grandmother to know this fact, she was always a bit uncomfortable being the one to speak of her accomplishments. She didn't like to boast.

Grandmother Malfoy eyed her suspiciously. After a few moments, she seemed to decide something.

"Yes, I thought as much. Gryffindor through and through, aren't you?" Seeing Hermione's slightly shocked expression, she added, "How could you be anything but, with that prideful, arrogant attitude you carry with you? Hmph," she said as an aside to Draco, "didn't your father ever teach you about mixing about with those from other houses? Why do you think they sort you in the first place?"

"I _think_, Grandmother, that you might be careful how you talk about my future _wife_," Draco said darkly. Grandmother Malfoy shut her mouth and stared at him as if she'd never seen him before. Her strange eyes glittered ferociously at him.

"I'm sure, Draco, that you don't mean to disrespect me when you say that," she said a moment later.

"No disrespect was meant, just a warning before you overstep your bounds." His eyes were flashing, too, his hands clenched into fists; and yet his tone betrayed no disrespect whatsoever.

Hermione's eyes slid back and forth between the two of them as they spoke. Her brain was no longer functioning at this point. Anger and disbelief, shock and awe were all trying to push themselves to the forefront.

It was one thing that Draco's grandmother hated her; she'd expected that. But what really made her jaw drop was the way Draco defended her, so readily, so forcefully, not caring that this was the matriarch of his family he was speaking to, that he could be disowned in a heartbeat.

"I think, perhaps, that we had better call an end to this little interview," Grandmother Malfoy was saying imperiously.

"Yes, I think we had better take our leave, Hermione," Draco replied, never taking his eyes off the lady in the chair as he took Hermione by her elbow and began to lead her from the room. "Goodbye, Grandmother."

"Draco," she called as they reached the door. Draco froze, then turned slowly to face her once more. He raised his eyebrows. "Do come visit me again soon, dear. I so enjoy these little visits."

And then they were gone.

Hermione couldn't remember leaving the Manor; she didn't even register as Narcissa helped her into her cloak and asked her question after question about what had transpired in the drawing room. She couldn't answer any of them; she merely shook her head. Draco wasn't any better - he refused to speak again until they had exited the Manor and Apparated - separately this time - back to his apartment.

He was fuming as he threw his cloak on the sofa.

"That…woman! _Didn't your father teach you about mixing houses_…ugh!" He kicked the coffee table; the leg broke. Hermione wordlessly mended it again before Draco could react. She was beginning to regain a bit of her bearings.

"That went well," she said flatly, straightening the books that had been upset when the table broke. She stacked them neatly and collapsed onto the sofa behind her. Draco growled.

"Aren't you furious?" he asked her through gritted teeth.

"Actually, yes. Why didn't you tell me your grandmother was an Metamorphmagus?" she asked matter-of-factly.

Draco's face turned from livid to sheepish in two seconds flat.

"Well, I just sort of wanted to see your face," he mumbled quickly. Hermione fought the urge to laugh.

"Does she always look like that?"

"Most of the time. I think she may have put on a bit more today, though, because she knew she was going to meet you."

"She wanted to impress me?"

"Intimidate you," Draco corrected. "Did it work?"

"Not really. She more or less just made me angrier than I've ever been at anyone, including you," Hermione replied.

Draco chuckled.

"Thanks for standing up for me, though," she added, as Draco dropped onto the couch beside her and threw an arm around her shoulders. She sighed and leaned into him, and he pulled her tighter.

"Thank you, too," he mumbled into her hair. Her head snapped up quickly, confusion evident on her face.

"For what?"

"For going there today in the first place, and for being you," he added with a chuckle. As her puzzled expression deepened, he explained. "I've never seen her so angry, not even at Mother."

"Well, I suppose we're lucky that she didn't disown you, then," Hermione sighed, settling back down into his arms. It was Draco's turn to look confused.

"Well, I'm only after you for your money, after all," she explained, snuggling deeper into his embrace. With her ear against Draco's chest, she could hear the deep rumble as he chuckled and pulled her tighter.

* * *

**A/N : Well, what did you think of Grandmother Malfoy? I like her already. This was by far my favorite chapter to write so far in this sequel. And don't everybody get all crazy and tell me Hermione didn't defend herself well enough. She was pretty much in shock during the interview, and she was trying to keep herself calm for Draco's sake, remember?**

**Anyway, this chapter is an excellent example about characters sometimes not doing what you want them to do. Originally, Hermione was supposed to be furious and raving when they got home, and Draco was supposed to be calm and amused. But when his Grandmother started saying all that junk about Hermione and not mixing houses and all that, it just set him off, you know? I couldn't control him. :D **

**No chapter preview this time...but I am going to start taking suggestions for the title for this story! Go ahead and start submitting! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N : No author's note today, folks! See you at the end of this chapter. :)**

* * *

"It's about _time_, Archimedes; where have you been? It feels like _ages_ since you left with my letter to Daph….what's this?"

The owl had flown in through the open window and landed gracefully in the middle of the breakfast table, right between the eggs and the toast. It dropped a small package on the pretty blonde girl's still-empty plate before nipping a bit of toast in its beak and soaring off through the window once more.

The girl ripped open the package, only to find a small, nondescript bottle full of clear liquid.

"Hmph," she pouted, dropping it carelessly on the table and jutting out her lower lip slightly. Then her eyes fell on the small scroll that had accompanied the package; she tore into it eagerly.

_Astoria, _it read,

_The enclosed bottle of potion is extremely important - BE CAREFUL WITH IT. It was brewed especially for this occasion, and may be the catalyst that sets our plan in motion._

_Never mind what it is. Simply take it to the enclosed address and have a house elf put it in Draco's coffee TOMORROW MORNING._

_Don't forget, Astoria, our future is riding on this tiny bottle of potion._

_Your sister,_

_Daphne_

"Oh, _all_ right," Astoria sniffed as she scanned the letter once more. "You don't have to be so _pushy_ about it, you know."

She took the slip containing the address her sister had provided and carefully tucked it into her pocket. Then she picked up the small vial of liquid and examined it more carefully.

"I wonder what it is," she mused, turning it slowly in her hands. The potion inside glinted in a sinister way as the sunlight touched it. Astoria smiled.

Soon she would have what she desired, and nothing was going to stop her.

* * *

The morning dawned bright and clear. The sunlight filtered cheerfully though the curtains; a bird sang merrily on the outside ledge of the window. It was a beautiful morning, and the sunshine that landed softly on Hermione's pillow should have been a beautiful way to wake up.

If she hadn't already been awake since four thirty that morning, that is.

She was completely beside herself making preparations for the day. For it was a very important day.

Today was the day that Draco was finally going to meet her parents - her adoptive parents, that is - the Grangers, the people who had raised her and loved her and - well, this was a red-letter day.

And she was nervous. And excited. And hopeful that they would all like each other. And completely, utterly terrified that they wouldn't.

There was so much to be done to get ready for today. They were going to arrive in the Muggle way, so as to make the best possible impression on her parents as they could. Of course her parents knew all about the wizarding world, but Hermione thought that it would shock them a bit less if she and Draco didn't come popping out of thin air or stepping out of green flames onto the family room carpet or anything.

They were going to get enough of a shock as it was.

Because, you see, well, they didn't exactly know about Hermione being engaged.

Of course she had told them before, when she had seen no way out of the magically binding contract she'd unknowingly entered into with Draco the year before. There really hadn't been much of a way around the cursed ring that wouldn't come off unless they actually got married. They only other way out was death, and of course Draco had taken care of that nicely when he jumped off of that building…

The point was, she told them _before,_ but then when all of that had happened and the contract had been broken, she'd told them there wasn't going to be a wedding in their futures after all.

And if that wasn't confusing enough, she still hadn't talked to them about Draco proposing - for real, this time - on her birthday a few months ago.

But there was really no putting it off any longer.

So a few weeks ago, she'd sat down with Draco and they'd talked about telling her parents. Together.

Draco hadn't taken so well to the idea, but in the end, Hermione had convinced him, and they'd set the date to visit them and tell them. The date that had loomed over Hermione's every waking moment for the past few weeks, and was now finally - horribly - upon them at last.

She had already picked out the suit of clothes that she wanted Draco to wear. He had fought with her tooth and nail on that one, saying of course he had enough sense to dress himself (and he did), but Hermione still insisted on going with him to Muggle London so that she could have the final word on the clothes he was buying to wear.

She just wanted everything to be perfect, that's all.

She had arranged for a taxi to pick them up in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Draco had tried to convince her to let him get the limo again, but she had flatly refused. Her parents were simple people, she told him, and there was no reason to be ostentatious in any case.

She had cleared it a week ago with her parents, so now all that really remained was to pick out the clothes that _she_ was going to wear today.

There were five different outfits lying on her living room sofa, each one pretty and completely appropriate, and yet hopelessly wrong at the same time.

The first was a simple black dress. Hermione thought it made her look sophisticated and grown-up, like the kind of person who was perfectly capable of making an important decision like whether or not to get married. She stuck her tongue out at it. Black, the color of disappointment and mourning. She didn't want to give her parents any ideas.

The second was a simple white sweater with a pair of khaki pants. It was comfortable, appropriate, and, most importantly, white. White was pure and innocent, exactly what she would want her father to think of her as when she was sitting next to Draco. But somehow, white seemed wrong. It might make her parents edgy and start thinking about wedding bells too soon. Before she had softened them up.

The third was a red button-up shirt with a pair of dark wash blue jeans. Casual, so as not to freak them out. But red? Her father might get the wrong idea.

Fourth came a green v-neck sweater and a pair of black slacks. She knew Draco would smirk at seeing her in green, and that he would love the outfit right away because of the way the black pants fit across her seat. But Hermione's mother didn't like the way green looked against Hermione's skin, she'd told her so plenty of times when they went shopping together. So that one was probably out.

The last outfit was probably the closest thing to perfect that her closet could offer her. It was a blue sweater, with thin lines of brown woven through it, the exact color of her eyes, and a pair of dark brown khaki pants. How many times had Draco said that particular shade of blue brought out the honey highlights in her hair? And hadn't her father once told her that he liked to see her wearing that very sweater?

Perfect.

By the time she had finally decided what to wear, it was already nine o'clock. She was due to meet Draco at ten outside her apartment building. She showered quickly and dressing, feeling more apprehensive as the seconds ticked away, bringing her closer and closer to the dreaded meeting.

She was ready with ten minutes to spare, and decided to go down anyway because the chances were good that Draco was already there and waiting for her. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of calling her late _today_, she mused, chuckling under her breath as she boarded the lift.

When she got to the lobby, she expected him to be leaning casually on the desk, hands in his pockets, looking completely at his ease and as if he owned everything in sight. That was how she usually found him, at least.

But he wasn't there.

_Funny_, she thought, but decided not to worry about it just yet. He was probably outside; it was such a beautiful morning.

When she walked out the big glass doors, though, there was no one on the sidewalk this Saturday morning except for a young woman and her small son, out for a morning stroll.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she went over the events of last night in her head.

Draco had come over to her apartment, and they had spent the evening in, talking about the next day and then eventually…_not_….talking. By the time she'd finally forced him to leave, they were both breathing a bit too quickly and of course not thinking of anything remotely along the lines of lunch with her parents the next day. But that wouldn't be cause for him to _forget_, would it?

He wasn't -_ mad_ - was he? Not after all this time, surely? He knew where she stood on the whole sex thing. It wasn't as if she didn't _want_ to do that with him, but she just kind of wanted to be married first. What was so wrong with that? And he'd always respected her wishes before, completely and fully. Sometimes _too_ well, she thought with a wry smile. Besides, he didn't seem angry when he left.

So that couldn't be it. And it certainly wasn't like Draco to be late. Wasn't he always harping on her about making them late for things, even when she almost always was ready on time, if not early?

So if he wasn't mad and he didn't forget and he wasn't late, then what was going on?

He wasn't…couldn't be…_hurt?_ Had something happened to him? Why wasn't he here by now?

Hermione glanced down at her watch. It was now fifteen minutes past ten, and everything in her told her that there was something terribly wrong.

* * *

**A/N 2 : So. I've only gotten ONE suggestion for a name for this story, people! Please pretty please with a cherry on top? Oh, and I decided no chapter previews this time around. Sorry to those of you who wanted them! Also, I promise to update on Wednesday. I just do. No reason. I just want to get more chapters posted! :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N : Wow. So sorry for the long wait. Hope you can forgive me! I'll post another chapter Friday, as well, just to make it up to you. :D**

* * *

Hermione spent about ten more minutes waiting outside her apartment, just in case the world had turned upside down and Draco was actually _late_ in meeting her. When he never came, she raced back inside and into the lift. When it finally reached her level two agonizing minutes later, she sprinted down the hall and threw herself through the door and into her flat.

It only took three seconds to cross the room to the fireplace, and to locate the small decorative box where she kept her Floo Powder. She grabbed a pinch and took a deep, steadying breath. After all, he was probably completely fine.

She prodded the ashes with her wand and instantly a fire sprang to life. That done, she sprinkled a small amount of the powder into the flames, which immediately turned a jade green color. Taking another deep breath, she knelt by the flames and stuck just her head into the fireplace.

"Draco's flat!" she shouted, and shut her eyes tightly. Her head seemed to be spinning faster and faster, but she could still feel the thick carpet under her knees where she was still kneeling in front of her own fireplace. Finally, her head stopped spinning, and she opened her eyes.

There was the familiar room, unnaturally tidy and gleaming - exactly how she remembered it, except that she was viewing it from a much lower vantage point than usual, and also that there was no Draco to be seen.

A cold flame of fear spiraled up inside Hermione's stomach.

"Draco? Are you here?"

No answer.

"Draco?" she called again, just to be sure. She waited, a little longer than was necessary, until she finally couldn't stand the sensation of being in two places at once anymore, and she pulled her head back through the fire. She forgot to close her eyes this time and was almost sick as dozens of different fireplaces spun past her vision, but finally she was back in her own flat, kneeling once more before her own fireplace.

Her head had stopped spinning, but she now felt nauseated, and she still wasn't any closer to finding Draco. She was torn between feeling panicked and feeling like an idiot for freaking out. But where was he?

After a moment's hesitation, she made up her mind, and quickly turned on the spot, disappearing into blackness and nothingness. She reappeared a moment later on the front lawn of the Manor.

As she ran across the wide, perfect lawn, she felt an overwhelming surge of déjà vu wash over her. She had run across this very lawn less than a year ago, trying to find Draco when the cursed ring she'd been wearing had suddenly slipped off her finger. She might have smiled at the recollection if it hadn't been for the fact that he had actually been _dead_ in that situation, and that was _definitely _something she didn't need to be thinking of right now.

She finally reached the door and raised her hand to knock, clutching her side with the other hand as she struggled to catch her breath. The door swung open before she could even touch it to knock.

"Hermione?"

"Draco? What the _hell_?!"

"Wait, what are you doing here?" he asked, taking her gently by the shoulders to steady her. It took her a moment to realize this was because she probably looked like she was going to pass out. She certainly felt like it.

"What are _you_ doing here? You were supposed to meet me, remember?" she gasped as he led her into the entranceway where their voices echoed too loudly around her ears. _Ow. Now I have a headache, too._

"Oh. _Oh!_" Understanding dawned on Draco's face like the sun coming over a mountain range. He hit himself savagely on the forehead with the heel of his hand, suddenly looking furious. "I can't _believe_ I forgot; I'm such an _idiot_…"

Suddenly the pieces seem to fall into place all around Hermione and she could think again.

"You…_forgot_?" she asked softly. Draco's eyes flashed to her face, suddenly wary. He must have heard the anger brewing in her voice. Good.

Suddenly Draco was tugging her into a small room off the entrance hall, probably to get her out of there before she started screaming at him and attracted the attention of the entire house. She glanced around, trying to calm herself, and realized they were in a room that was probably used for when the Manor hosted large parties. It was still bigger than her bedroom.

"So," she said, regaining her composure a bit and folding her arms across her chest.

"Hermione, calm down; you look like you're going to explode."

"It's a good thing I'm not out there in the hallway, then; I wouldn't want to get exploded bits of Hermione all over your mother's floor."

"Be serious," Draco said, his eyebrows drawing together.

"I'm being serious, _Draco_," she bit out, "it's not me who's been going around forgetting important dates."

His expression changed again, and he dropped down onto one of the benches that lined the room, head in his hands.

"Oh, please," Hermione growled, rolling her eyes. She was _not_ about to fall for his melodramatic nonsense today. He raised his head to look at her, completely crestfallen.

"I don't know how I could have forgotten," he said quietly, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Could you spare me the theatrics, please? I don't really feel like standing around in your mother's coatroom for the rest of the day."

"What is _wrong_ with you? Why are you suddenly channeling Professor McGonagall?"

This was the final straw, in Hermione's opinion. She turned on her heel and marched out of the coatroom, then the entranceway, without a single word. She could hear Draco a step and a half behind her, but she wasn't worried. Once she had made it halfway across the yard, she would Apparate out of here, if only she could just get there in time…

"Hermione, wait!" Draco called. He was practically running to keep up with her. Only a few more feet now…

She stopped and turned, eyebrows raised. Draco stopped, too, about three yards from where she was standing, his arms helplessly hanging at his sides, his expression miserable.

"I think that you should probably not owl me for a couple of days," she said, her voice surprising her by coming out rather shaky and broken. She realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks now without her even knowing when or how they'd begun.

Draco just stared after her as she spun on the spot and vanished.

* * *

"Excellent! _Excellent _news, thank you, Winky," Daphne Greengrass was sitting in her usual chair before the fireplace in her personal study, while a small house elf cowered in front of her, fidgeting and looking as if it wanted very much to leave, but couldn't.

"Please keep me updated on any further progress, then. That will be all."

The house elf squeaked and hurried to escape the room after being dismissed, accidentally upsetting a small table that was laid for tea. The tea set clattered to the floor, cakes flew everywhere, and hot water poured all over the rug.

"You clumsy _fool!_" the girl gasped, waving her wand so that instantly the entire mess was gone, leaving the house elf rooted to the spot, frozen in the action of trying to pick up the now non-existent tea set. "Out! Get out now and leave me in peace!"

The elf needed no further encouragement; it was gone before the girl could blink again. Daphne settled back into her armchair with a sigh.

"Now, all that remains is to wait…since it was so easy to drive a rift between them already, I don't think our interference will be needed again. They'll drive themselves apart quite nicely without any help, I think."

She smiled and rubbed her thin hands together, a wild exultant expression twisting her pretty face.

"And to think that all we had to do was slip him some forgetfulness potion in his morning coffee! It was almost too easy! Ha!"

She sighed again and closed her eyes, leaning her cheek upon her hand.

"Now we wait."

* * *

**A/N 2 : So I've combed through the suggestions that you guys have been sending in, and I've narrowed it down to two choices. Thank you for sending in your titles, everyone! Next chapter I post I'll tell you more about how I'm going to let YOU choose between the finalists for the name of this story, yay! See you Friday!**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN : Sorry, sorry, sorry!  I know I said I'd update Friday, but some stuff came up!  So here we are today, only a few days late.  Sorry.  The poll is on my account page, which you can get to by clicking my name at the top of this page.  Go vote!  Right now!  Okay, after you read this chapter.**

* * *

 The next two days were difficult, to say the least.

Draco was good at respecting Hermione's wishes. He'd done it before, when he thought she never wanted to see him again. He had managed to stay away for weeks then.

But that was when he thought she didn't love him.

He knew better now. He knew that she loved him, that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. It wasn't her choice to be away from him now.

He had pushed her. This whole thing was his fault. He'd been careless and thoughtless and he'd hurt her.

What he couldn't figure out was how in the world he had managed to forget such an important thing. Hadn't they just talked about it the night before? Hadn't he been thinking of it that morning before breakfast?

It didn't matter now; nothing did. He thought of a million ways to apologize to her, a million words he could say to try and explain. But all of them were useless and flat. He wanted to send flowers; he wanted to rush her apartment building and break down the door.

He waited.

Two days passed, but felt like two weeks to Draco. On the third day, he received an owl.

_Draco,_

_Meet me at the park._

_HG_

So he showered and dressed and made it to the park in record time. He found her on the bench they usually sat on when they came here together.

He cleared his throat as he approached. She looked up at him and smiled a small smile, then patted the bench next to her. Draco sat.

"So," he began, but Hermione cut across him.

"I understand about the other day," she said quietly. "Well, maybe I don't, but I think I can forgive you for it; after all, everybody makes mistakes, right?" She chuckled wryly. "The thing is, I want us to be okay."

"Me too. And I'm really…sorry…about the other day." It was never easy to say he was sorry, not even when he knew he was wrong. He just hadn't been brought up that way. Hermione's mouth twisted into a grimace, but she seemed to take his apology with a grain of salt and she smiled another small smile. Draco returned it.

"So, we're good now?"

"Are we?"

"Yes, I think so," she said with a smile, a genuine one this time. "Besides, you know you missed me." Draco coughed.

"Oh, yeah?" He paused, pretending to think about it. "You have no idea," he finally said, standing up quickly and scooping her into his arms. Before she could protest, he had turned on the spot and Apparated them straight into the living room of his flat.

Hermione opened her mouth, probably to tell him to put her down, by the look on her face, but he leaned his head down before she could say anything and covered her mouth with his.

She made a little noise of protest, then melted into his arms. So she had missed him, too, he thought smugly. He pulled her a little tighter, kissing her thoroughly. How could he have let her stay away from him this long? Nothing was worth missing the feel of her lips, warm and yielding under his own, or the feel of her arms as they laced themselves around his neck, drawing them closer together.

He growled in the back of his throat and broke the kiss, causing Hermione to protest.

"Dra_co_," she complained, trying to pull him back in for another kiss. But he wasn't to be distracted. This would be so much better on his bed.

He turned to the stairs, crossing to them in three strides, Hermione protesting all the way. Then he took the steps two at a time until he reached the top landing. About this time, Hermione clued in to where they were headed.

"Draco," she said in a completely different tone of voice. "Draco, you know how I feel…what are you doing?"

He kicked the door open to his room and was at his bed in another second. Now he looked her fully in the eyes as he laid her gently back on his pillows.

"I promise you that I won't do anything you don't want," he said solemnly, never looking away from her eyes. "I just thought we might be more comfortable…in here," he added, gesturing around and then patting the soft mattress.

Hermione flushed, then glanced around nervously. "I guess so," she said, and Draco noticed how her voice trembled a little. He smiled his best lopsided smile to reassure her.

Then he leaned down and closed the gap between them again. She resisted a bit at first, then sighed into his mouth and he could feel her relaxing a bit. He settled himself more comfortably beside her on the bed and drew her into his arms, focusing on keeping the kiss as gentle and non-threatening as possible. He wouldn't have her being afraid of him.

After a moment Hermione seemed to relax completely and she allowed herself to bury her hands in his hair, pulling him closer until he was leaning on his elbow and hovering over her. He ran his free hand over her cheek, marveling at how soft and warm her skin was, running his fingers through the tangled mass of hair splayed out over his pillow.

Hermione moaned as he broke away and trailed kisses down her jawline and the smooth white skin of her neck. She tugged at his hair, trying to get him to kiss her again, but Draco chuckled into her collarbone and took her wrists swiftly in his hands and pinned them on either side of her head. She gasped, then glared at him when she saw his playful expression.

"Let me go," she said, obviously intending to sound threatening, but her voice was rough and low and she just ended up sounding incredibly sexy.

He didn't answer, though, not with words. He leaned down again and kissed her fiercely, crushing her mouth with his, running his tongue over her bottom lip until she opened her mouth to him, then darting it inside to meet hers. He groaned when she kissed him back with just as much heat and fervor, her tongue fighting with his for dominance until he was sure he couldn't stand it anymore.

He broke the kiss and returned his attentions to her neck with the added luxury of not being interrupted this time because he still held her wrists steady with his hands. She moaned his name when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Draco paused, then tried the spot again. She responded by arching her back and groaning. He brought his lips back to the spot and ran his tongue over the fevered skin. She squirmed beneath him and struggled against his hands.

"You're - making me - crazy," she gasped helplessly, still trying to break free. Draco grinned into her neck, filing away the exact location of that spot for future notice. Then he brought his lips back to hers and released her hands.

She punished him by biting his lower lip, but it only served to spur him on as she grasped at his arms, his back, anything she could reach. Draco was having a difficult time stopping himself from returning the favor; he didn't want this to end anytime soon, and if he crossed any of the unspoken lines that Hermione had in place, this all would be over before he could blink twice.

Suddenly, she was tugging at his robes, whether consciously or not, Draco couldn't tell. He steadied her hand and broke away from her soft, inviting mouth with great difficulty, gasping for air.

"Now, love, none of that," he teased, tracing her jawbone with his index finger, their foreheads touching. What happened next surprised him immensely.

She rolled him over in one smooth motion, pinning him to the mattress; and the next thing he knew, she was on top of him, straddling him and looking just as surprised as he imagined he must have looked.

The next minute her expression turned smug as she took in the look on his face. She leaned down and paused when her face was less than an inch from his own. Her hair hung like a curtain on one side, partially blocking the light from his bedside lamp. He knew his eyes must have been the size of saucers now, and she chuckled, apparently noticing.

Then she was kissing him, and all coherent thought slipped completely out of his mind. If he didn't calm down, and she didn't stop…kissing him…that way…with the way she was sitting, there was no way she wouldn't notice…

And then, suddenly, she _did_. He knew the exact moment it happened, because she froze and her eyes shot open. He chuckled against her lips.

"Occupational hazard, my sweet; I tried to stop you," he murmured as Hermione blushed a deep crimson. She tried to roll over to lie beside him, but he took her hips and held her fast.

"Draco," she began, looking slightly frightened, but he cut across her.

"I'm not going to _bite_ you, Hermione," he growled as she grabbed at his hands to get him to release her.

"But - I - you - we need to stop, right?" her eyes were wide and innocent, searching his face. He heaved a great sigh. She was probably right; in any case, she wasn't going to relax again.

"If you want to," he said at last, hoping that his face didn't look as frustrated as he felt. She slid sideways off him and curled against him on the bed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. He looked down at her, surprised. She was apologizing to _him_? It was _his_ bloody hormones that he couldn't keep in check, not hers.

Hermione sneaked a peek up over the side of his robes, eyes wide with concern - concern for _him_, that she'd hurt _his_ feelings.

"Hermione," he muttered, pulling her fully into his embrace and tilting her chin up carefully. Her eyes fluttered open, now brimming with tears, and his breath caught in his chest. She started talking before he had a chance to breathe again.

"I know that I have this stupid…_rule_…and it's not your fault…and I'm really sorry that you have to put up with me…you shouldn't have to go through this…especially when you don't have a choice…" she rambled on, making less sense with every statement.

Draco could see that she meant every word, that she probably had been thinking about this for a long time, thinking that he was upset or angry that she didn't want to compromise her personal feelings about this.

"Hermione, Hermione, wait," he interrupted, leaning up on his elbow again and looking her full in the face. "Listen to me. _Look_ at me," he pleaded, when she wouldn't meet his eyes.

When she was looking at him again, he continued. "There's nothing wrong with having morals. I respect that. I respect _you_. And one day, when you're my wife, we'll lock ourselves in a room for a week and I'll make love to you until you don't remember your name," he added with a growl.

Hermione shivered in his arms and her eyes slid out of focus for a moment, then she smiled up at him.

"Promise?" she said softly.

"Promise."

Draco leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then he pulled her into his arms and didn't let her go for the rest of the night.

* * *

**A/N 2 : Okay, NOW go vote!  **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N : Wow. I am so ashamed of myself. I haven't updated in AGES. I have no real excuse except for the fact that my files were on my ancient computer (which is not wireless internet compatible) and I couldn't get them onto my laptop. Finally figured out a way to do it, which involved putting them on a floppy disk (told you it was ancient) and then finding a computer with both a floppy drive and a USB port (acutally a pretty daunting task; it took a while) and then transferring the files from the USB drive to my laptop. Altogether a rather tedious and drawn-out process. The only other option was typing it all out by hand, and THAT was not going to happen, not with November being such a busy month for me. **

**BTW, I tried doing Nanowrimo, for those of you who know what that is, but I completely gave up about a week and a half into it. I fully plan on finishing my "novel," because that story wants out, but it won't be in time for the end of November. I was slightly bummed at that. :( But anyway. You guys don't really care about all of that, do you? Here is the next installment, and I promise to update again next week, at which time I will reveal the new name of this story, yay! I'm excited; are you excited?**

* * *

_"Argh!"_

A tower of books and papers, quills and inkwells scattered from the desk to the floor.

"Honestly, Astoria, you can be so…overdramatic."

"How can you sit there so calmly when our chances have just gone up in smoke?" Astoria screeched at her sister, who was sitting serenely in her comfortable chair, reading a book.

"You forget, my dear, that the game isn't over yet," Daphne replied, casually flipping a page and sighing.

"So you have a plan?"

Daphne shut the large book with a snap and surveyed her sister over the top of it as she held it to her chin.

"As it happens, I barely had to try this time…it seems as though luck has been with us these past few weeks." She pulled a slip of paper from between the pages of her book and turned it over in her hands carefully. Then she sent it soaring across the room, flying much farther and more quickly than it should have been capable of doing. Astoria caught it easily.

"What's this? An invitation to tea? What's so special about it?"

"Again, Astoria, you prove yourself to be extraordinarily unobservant. Have you not noted whom the invitation is _from_?"

Astoria gave the invitation another irritated glance, and her eyes grew large with realization.

"How did you manage to come across this?"

"As it happens, my dear sister, it was delivered to me just this afternoon. Apparently, Draco's grandmother is no happier about his choice than we are."

"The invitation only says 'Miss Greengrass;' which one of us will go?" Astoria asked hopefully.

"I shall go, obviously," Daphne asked before the question was even fully out of her sister's mouth. At Astoria's angry and incredulous expression, she added, "Because _you_ are more important for the second phase of the plan, remember? We can't take the chance of him finding us out. We must be careful about this, sister!"

The other girl's face fell, but she sighed.

"You are, of course, right as usual, _dear sister_," she mumbled, crumpling the invitation in her fist. She turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

* * *

Draco woke that morning with an uneasy feeling in the depths of his stomach. He didn't know why, but he felt as if something very…_wrong _were going to happen this day. But that was ridiculous, of course. Today was just an ordinary day.

He dressed in the bright, cheery morning light, and he was sure now that his feeling of foreboding must have simply been the remnants of some bad dream he'd had the night before. Nothing bad could happen on a day such as _this_.

He whistled as he strode into his kitchen, ignoring the morning paper that was laid across his empty breakfast plate and reaching instead for an apple from the bowl that sat on the edge of the counter. When he turned to the table at last, he noticed a thick square of parchment paper sitting on top of the _Daily Prophet_.

It was an invitation to tea with Grandmother Malfoy.

He almost crushed it under his heel and set it on fire. But then he remembered his manners. It would be rude to ignore this invitation, even if he dearly wanted to forget his grandmother even existed. Hadn't he been raised better than that?

Still. He thought about how rude the woman had been to Hermione, and the things she had said, and his blood began to boil in his veins. No. He would not go there and subject Hermione to that - _woman_ - ever again.

He glanced at the invitation again, pulling his wand from his pocket as he did so. It wouldn't really hurt anything to set it on fire, and it would _definitely_ make him feel better. But something caught his eye before he could mutter the spell.

There was only one name. His.

The last invitation had clearly been for both of them, and yet this one was solely for him. It made him wonder. Was Grandmother Malfoy going to disown him after all? Had she changed her mind about Hermione, or was she simply going to try and talk him out of marrying her behind Hermione's back?

Whatever it was, his curiosity was piqued. At the very least, he would go there and tell his grandmother to sod off and mind her own business, inheritance be damned.

The day seemed to drag after that. He had some business to attend to in Diagon Alley, and that helped pass the time, but he was anxious and impatient now. He wanted to get this over with.

Afternoon finally arrived, and Draco Apparated to the Manor with a feeling bordering on relief. At least this would soon be over.

He could hear voices coming from the drawing room as soon as he set foot in the great entrance hall. One voice belonged to his grandmother, but the other one…

Suddenly he didn't feel so relieved anymore. Who else was here? The other, feminine voice was soft and delicate, yet still managed to carry into the hall where Draco stood, momentarily frozen. There was something about that voice that was familiar…

"I believe I hear Draco in the hallway," Grandmother Malfoy said suddenly. "I'm afraid we've caught him off-guard…Draco, darling, come here, please."

A cold hand seemed to clench inside Draco's stomach. Here was the foreboding feeling again. No, no, he was just being silly. He steeled himself, and walked through the door.

"Darling, you must forgive an old woman; I didn't realize until it was too late that I had invited you both on the same day," his grandmother drawled, looking much too innocent as she gestured toward the pretty blonde girl sitting opposite her.

Now Draco realized why the voice had been so familiar. This girl had been in his house at Hogwarts…Greengrass, if he remembered correctly.

"You remember Daphne, of course, don't you darling?"

Draco quickly regained his composure and pasted a charming smile across his face as he reached out a hand to the girl. She took it gracefully and smiled back.

"Yes, of course I remember Daphne," he added politely. Grandmother Malfoy motioned for him to sit next to the girl on the comfortable sofa directly across from herself. Having no other choice, he sat.

"Well, now, isn't this cozy?"

Draco resisted the urge to laugh out loud. It was horribly uncomfortable, that's what it was. He'd never really spoken to this girl who sat beside him, other than polite words of greeting whenever they were pushed together in the same place, like now.

The worst part was that now he wouldn't have the opportunity to tell his grandmother exactly what he thought of her earlier actions…it would be inappropriate to do so in front of company.

"Daphne was just telling me all about studying abroad last year," Grandmother Malfoy continued. "Why don't you tell Draco that charming story of how you ended up lost in Cairo? I'm afraid I have to leave you two for just a moment; there was something I needed to speak with Narcissa about earlier and I've just remembered…" she trailed off as she stood, and Draco stood as well, shooting daggers at her with his eyes.

As soon as she was gone from the room, Draco collapsed back onto the sofa and sighed. Daphne chuckled.

"I think this was her plan all along," she said sheepishly. "I honestly had no idea what she was up to until a few minutes before you arrived, otherwise I wouldn't have come," she added with an apologetic smile. Draco couldn't help but smile back.

"I see that there is no low that Grandmother won't stoop to in order to get her way," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry that you had to be a part of this."

"Don't worry about it. It was either this or my cousin's piano recital, anyway," Daphne added with a laugh. _At least she's not in on it,_ Draco thought, relieved.

"Somehow I get the feeling that she doesn't want me to get married," he replied sarcastically.

"You can't make everyone happy," Daphne said with a smile. She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and turned on the sofa so she was facing him. "So, you and _Granger_? Who would have thought?"

Draco laughed. "I know. I certainly would have never believed it. But…"

"You love her?" It was a question.

"Yes." Fiercely. Daphne's eyes grew a fraction wider, but she smiled.

"Then you don't have anything to worry about. If she loves you, too, then you'll be able to get past your family's hating her."

"They don't _all_ hate her," Draco replied, almost growled. He immediately regretted the intensity of his comment when he saw the girl's reaction. She frowned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply -"

"That's all right. I'm sorry. It's just…well, you're more right than you know. My mother is the only one who really approves of Hermione. They get on really well. But Father? There are just some prejudices that run too deep to be overcome so easily."

"But…what is it they say? 'Love conquers all,' right?"

"I hope so."

"Aren't you sure?"

Draco studied his hands.

"I used to be…_more_ sure. I'm starting to wonder. I hate putting her through this. It isn't fair. She should be able to get married to some bloke whose family will welcome her with open arms, you know?" He didn't know why he was finally voicing these long-repressed feelings now, especially not to this girl whom he barely knew. But once he began, he found he couldn't stop.

"You think you aren't good enough for her?" Daphne replied with a smile in her voice. Draco glanced up at her. She seemed to be repressing laughter. His eyebrows drew together.

"I meant no offense," she amended quickly. "I simply meant that I never imagined those words coming out of your mouth. _Draco Malfoy_ thinking a girl is too good for _him_? It feels like an alternate universe."

Draco had to smile. She did have a point. Things were so different now.

"Thanks for listening, Daphne."

"You're welcome."

"You know, I'm really kind of glad Grandmother forced us here today."

"Me, too."

"Draco?" A completely different voice, coming from the doorway and sounding upset, caused Draco to whirl around on the sofa and rise quickly to his feet.

Hermione, standing on the threshold, clutching a square of parchment identical to the one Draco had wanted to set on fire this morning. Looking uncertain and hurt.

He had been set up.

Maybe that was too conspiratorial-sounding for what had happened. Either way, Hermione was hurting, and it had been his own careless, stupid, blundering fault.

Grandmother Malfoy appeared in the doorway just behind Hermione at that moment, before Draco could even speak the cliché-d words that were screaming in his head: _This isn't what it looks like!_

"Hermione, darling! What a surprise! I thought I put four o'clock on your invitation…silly me, I must have scheduled you too early. So sorry, dear. But where are my manners? I'm sure you remember Daphne Greengrass, don't you dear? I believe she was in your year. She and _darling_ Draco were just catching up, weren't you? I didn't like to bother them when they seemed so _deep_ in conversation…"

During the course of Grandmother Malfoy's speech, Hermione's face began to drain slowly of color. By the end of it, her skin was a deathly pale, and her features were no longer hurt and confused. No, she was angry. Furious.

"So sorry to _interrupt_," she finally spat towards Draco and the girl, who had not risen from the sofa, but looked properly horrified. "I'll not interfere any longer."

She turned to leave, then stopped and threw one last horrible look at Draco. She didn't say anything, but her message in her eyes was as clear as if she'd yelled it at him, which might have actually been preferable in this instance.

It was over. There was no coming back from this. She would never believe that he hadn't come here of his own accord to meet the girl. She was going to end it.

And he had to stop her.

* * *

**A/N 2 : I really don't have anything interesting to say here. I'm just addicted to author's notes. :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N : So this story finally has a title, yay! Big congrats to SilverGreenBlackisSnakeAttack, who suggested the title "Heart's Demise." And thank you to all of YOU who voted! This was fun. XD**

* * *

The whole world was crashing down around her ears. Whatever she had been expecting to find at the Manor that afternoon, it had _not_ been to walk in to find Draco immersed in conversation with a pureblooded - _blonde_ - Slytherin _girl_!

He'd been saying that he was _glad_ to be there with _her_! Leaning towards her! Speaking softly, probably gazing into her stupid, vapid eyes!

Hermione wasn't going to cry. Not this time.

She heard him racing down the hallway after her, and a strange feeling of _déjà vu _washed over her. It had been a mere week ago when he'd followed her out this way the fateful morning he'd forgotten they were going to meet her parents.

With a pang, she realized that they still hadn't gone to see them. Was this the reason? Was Draco trying to push her out of his life now? Was he trying to hint to her that she would never be good enough for him? As if she didn't know that on her own!

She came to the edge of the Anti-Apparition charm and turned on the spot, thinking of the very last place she knew Draco would look for her now. It was the only place she could really think of, really.

A second later, she was pushed into the cool, slightly stale air of her bedroom at her parents' house. She knew they should still be in the office now; they wouldn't be back until around six thirty, probably, if their schedules hadn't changed much since she'd moved out.

She glanced around. Everything was exactly as she'd left it. This didn't surprise her much; her mother was a sentimental woman - and obviously visited the room on occasion to dust, Hermione noted.

Her bed, still in the same place, still with the same ragged quilt draped over it, was the solace she sought now. She sank down on the edge of it and put her face in her hands, trying to stop her brain from working.

It was whirring too fast.

It was true. It was all true. Everything Draco's grandmother had said, about not mixing houses and that Draco should be with someone else, someone better.

Because she knew she would never be good enough.

She would never fit in with his family. She knew that. It didn't help that his mother liked her; what was one ally when you're practically surrounded by the enemy?

He was ridiculously wealthy; her family had never been that well-off. Sure, they got along well enough, better than most families, but they didn't have estates that were really more like castles and a treasure trove buried deep below London somewhere.

She thought about the girl that had been sitting with Draco today. _That _was the type of girl who belonged with him, not Hermione. Pretty - no - gorgeous, that's what she had been. _She _could stand beside Draco and not have people wondering what she was doing there. If Draco had brought _her_ home and announced her as his future bride, no one would have batted an eyelash.

She was probably rich, too, so she wouldn't have to adjust to Draco's way of life the way Hermione was having trouble doing. Every time he spent money on Hermione - a gift, a fancy dinner - it made her feel uncomfortable because she was unable to give him anything comparable in return.

Finally, everything clicked into place.

It was over. Truly this time. She could feel it, deep in the pit of her stomach.

She was going to let him go.

---------------------------------------

Although he knew he shouldn't, Draco was doing all in his power to find her.

It had been two days. How could someone disappear so completely and yet still be fulfilling all her obligations as if she had never left in the first place?

Because she was still going to work. There were just charms in place now; charms designed to keep _him _out, and he couldn't get in to see her.

All of his letters were being returned unopened. It was more frustrating than he could even begin to describe because he had no idea how long she had been standing at that doorway that fateful afternoon. How much she had heard. What kind of damage had been done.

Apparently, too much.

He even stooped to trying to contact Potter or Weasley, but they weren't any help. Big surprise there.

"She doesn't want to see you, Malfoy," Weasley had spat at him. Well, he hadn't exactly expected him to come running to help someone he'd hated his whole life.

Potter had seemed sympathetic, but he was still unwilling to help.

"I don't know if this is fixable," he'd said, shaking his head with a sad look. "She's really stubborn, you know; she keeps saying that it just wasn't meant to be."

Wasn't meant to be? Was she crazy? Who cared about that nonsense? Meant to be! Hah! He loved her! She loved him, or at least she had. What more was she asking for?

That was the final straw. He needed to talk to her, to talk this madness through and stamp this stupid new idea of not being "meant to be" out of her too-smart-for-her-own-good head. Since when did Hermione care about crazy things like fate?

All he had to do was reason with her. And when that didn't work, he'd simply have to make her _stop_ thinking.

But how was he supposed to get alone with her? He needed a plan. He needed an accomplice.

--------------------------------------

For the second time in his life, Draco found himself asking Potter for his help to get Hermione back.

He wondered if this was going to become a regular thing. Hermione losing her head and overreacting to something inconsequential, Draco rushing to her best friend - and his once mortal enemy - to assist in tricking her into listening to what Draco had to say.

Potter was wary, but he still seemed to believe that Draco made Hermione happy, so he was up for helping her get her happiness back, at any rate.

It disturbed Draco when Potter began to tell him how she'd been acting. The last time, she had truly been upset; like Draco, she wasn't eating, was having trouble sleeping, and was generally unhappy all the time.

Not this time.

She was perfectly normal, according to Potter; only those who knew her well knew about the - _incident­_ - with Draco. It worried him that wasn't showing any outward signs of pain. Not that he wanted her hurting; he just wanted to know that she was _feeling_ anything for him anymore, even pain or hate.

The strangest thing of all was that Potter believed the story about Draco's grandmother setting him up. He didn't even ask questions again after the initial exposition Draco had given him.

_Great. Now if only we could get Hermione to believe._

The plan was simple. Potter was going to ask Hermione to meet him at a restaurant, saying Weasley would be there as well, that they were celebrating some big news, it was a surprise, and he would tell her when she got there. She agreed, no questions asked.

That was the easy part.

Now he was standing outside the Muggle restaurant that Potter had chosen; wearing a suit and tie and feeling nervous beyond words. He still wasn't sure what he was going to say. _I'm sorry_ didn't seem to cover all he felt she deserved.

She was in there now, waiting. He had seen her arrive just minutes ago. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the doorway.

He hoped that was the hardest part.

He knew which table she would be sitting at; hadn't he been over this plan fifteen times with Potter this afternoon? No one threw a spare glance at him; the restaurant was busy, and the right people knew he was going to be arriving. It was better this way, he had told Potter, that no one paid much attention to him. If Hermione knew he was coming, she wouldn't be staying, that much he knew.

He rounded a corner and suddenly had a view of the entire floor of the restaurant.

She was sitting at a table right in the middle of the room (Potter had thought it would be best in case she decided to make a scene), looking like she had just stepped out of one of Draco's dizziest dreams.

She was wearing a white dress, simply cut, casual, since she was going out with her two best friends, so she thought. Her hair was down for once, flowing halfway down her back in untidy waves that she generally hated, but Draco loved. His breath caught in his chest.

Her back was to him, which was good, because he would have the element of surprise as he came up behind her. He still had no idea what he was going to say.

He'd been wrong about walking through the door being the hardest part. Closing the distance between them, his feet felt like lead in his shoes.

She turned her head slightly as he came up behind her, almost as if she could sense his presence. He took a deep breath.

"Hermione."

She spun in her chair now, mouth hanging open for a half a second before she composed herself and clamped it shut.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she hissed as he sat down in the chair opposite her at the small table. Potter had been right about the table. She couldn't storm out on him here without attracting unwanted attention. He heard her mutter something that sounded like, "…going to _kill_ Harry…"

"I came to talk to you," he answered calmly, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward as she leaned back as far as she could get away from him.

"I have nothing to talk to you about."

"You see, the funny thing is, you _do_."

Hermione sighed.

"Draco. Really, there's nothing to talk about. What happened the other day just proved what I had known all along. We're not going to work out, that's all."

"That's where you're wrong," he replied fiercely. "You haven't even given me the chance to explain -"

"Explain what, Draco? You think I didn't know what was going on? I'm not stupid, you know."

"It wasn't what you thought - that girl - Grandmother -"

"Invited you both at the same time without either of you knowing," she cut across him, waving a hand in a dismissive way. Draco gaped at her.

"I told you I wasn't stupid," she went on. "Your _Grandmother_ is a clever woman. It was a good plan, setting you up so that I would walk in at just the right moment; clean, effective, providing a catalyst to set us fighting so we would break up. No one could ever say it was her fault," she added without emotion.

Draco finally recovered his tongue.

"So if you knew this whole time…then why?" He couldn't finish the thought that had formed in his head. _Why did you leave me?_

"Isn't it obvious? We're no good for each other." She smiled sadly. Draco was beginning to feel panicky now. She had put extremely too much thought into this. Not good.

"You're serious." A statement of fact, not a question.

"Yes, I'm quite serious," she replied.

"Then you're _mad_. I would say you're dense, but that isn't accurate at all because you're too bloody smart for your own damn good, but I think the word _mad_ covers it pretty well." He was losing his temper now. How could she sit there, devoid of emotion and feeling, while she crushed his entire world under her heel?

"I'm only speaking the truth, Draco. How can I possibly hope to become part of a family that hates me, that will never really accept me? I don't fit in with them. You deserve better." Her eyes were glistening now. Well, good. At least there was some emotion still in her. Maybe there was hope.

"Is that honestly what this is about? My family? Fuck my family. We don't need their approval," he growled, gripping the edge of the table to keep from throwing things. How could someone so smart be so _stupid_? "We don't need them at all. We _need_ you to stop acting like an idiot and letting other people tell us whether we should be together or not!"

"So I'm an idiot now? I thought I was too smart for my own good." Anger flashed in her eyes; she was leaning forward on the table now, too.

"No, you're not an idiot. You're _acting _like one. There's a difference."

Hermione stood up quickly. Draco felt that same sense of foreboding he'd felt the morning of the last day of his life.

"It's over, Draco. Face it, it was over before it started. Just let me go."

And he did.

* * *

**A/N 2 : I have absolutely nothing to say here. :D**


	10. Chapter 10

It was Friday. Night. Four days since the dinner. Four very long, dark days.

He was sitting. Drinking. It was a Muggle bar, so there was not much of a chance of anyone seeing him here. Not that it would make any difference at all. Who cared, anyway?

No one. He was alone. And probably pretty close to falling-on-the-floor drunk. Given the fact that he hadn't left his place at the bar in several hours, he had no idea if he could walk, or even stand. He didn't care.

The problem was, the sodding liquor wasn't doing its damn job. He could still remember everything. Far too clearly.

Suddenly, he was aware of someone taking the seat next to him at the bar. A familiar, painful scent accosted his senses, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. He stopped his wild train of thinking harshly; there was no way _she_ was _here_.

A sideways glance confirmed this. The girl who had settled in next to him merely shared the same preferences as _her_ when it came to perfume. That was all.

He sighed heavily. How unfortunate. It would never do to remain sitting here, while Hermione's scent wafted over him in waves and made it impossible to forget.

The girl peered up at him from behind the curtain of her long, dark hair.

"Are you okay?" she asked tentatively. Draco laughed humorlessly.

"Actually, no. I was just thinking about how I'm going to have to move now, but I'm not quite sure if I can walk to do it." His speech was clear and even, he noticed with surprise. Perhaps he hadn't drunk as much as he'd originally thought.

"Why do you have to move?" the girl asked with a bell-like laugh, turning now so she was facing him. A year and a half ago, Draco would have thought her very pretty, with her pale skin contrasting with her almost-black hair and dark eyes.

Now, he could barely see her at all. Truth be told, he never gave a passing glance to any other girl these days. The only one he ever saw clearly was the only one that mattered, but he couldn't bear to think of her now.

He suddenly realized that it was his turn to speak.

"Your perfume."

The girl looked shocked. "What's wrong with it?" she asked defensively.

Draco shook his head and tried to smile. "Nothing, nothing. I didn't mean to offend you. It just reminds me of someone I know."

"Someone you came here to not think about?" she said slowly, realization washing over her face. She smiled in an understanding sort of way.

Draco nodded. There was silence for a minute.

"Since you can't walk, would you like for _me _to move?" she finally asked quietly.

It surprised Draco that he was able to laugh - a real laugh - in response to this.

"No, it might do me some good to have a bit of conversation with someone other than the voices in my head," he replied. The girl laughed, too. It was a comfortable feeling, given the circumstances.

"Hearing voices is never a good sign…maybe you're going mad," she added helpfully.

Draco chuckled. "Maybe they should cart me off to St. Mungo's after all," he answered without thinking. Then his eyes flashed quickly up to the girl, whose dark eyes betrayed no confusion or suspicion; maybe she simply thought he was from out of town, or really out of his mind. He'd forgotten he'd been talking to a Muggle.

"I won't tell if you don't," she with a wink, turning to the bartender and placing her order. Then she turned back to face Draco again. "So, I haven't seen you in here before. New in town?"

"You could say that." _This _part of town, anyway.

She smiled. "My name is Mandy."

"Draco."

"Nice to meet you, Draco," she said, not looking at all surprised at his unusual name. She held out her hand; he shook it formally, and they both laughed again.

"So what brings you into our quaint little Muggle bar, Draco?"

He shrugged. "This is simply where I ended up." Then he thought for a second. What had she said?

"Don't look so surprised," she replied with a laugh. "You can pick your chin up off the bar now," she added in a low voice, grinning at him. Draco shut his mouth, which must have fallen open at the shock of hearing this random stranger say a word she shouldn't have even known existed.

"You obviously don't remember me at all…it _has _been a while, I'll admit. I wasn't even sure it was you at first; I had to make sure," here she paused and laughed her bell-like laugh again.

Draco's mind was racing. He tried to get a good look at the girl through the haze of alcohol, racking his brain for why she should look familiar in any way.

"But then, I was two years under you at school, and in Ravenclaw at that! Of course you wouldn't have known I existed," she went on. Well, that made sense. Sort of. He decided it wasn't worth trying to force his murky brain to remember her. It didn't matter after all, really.

"I apologize for not recognizing you; I would think your face would be impossible to forget," he added without thinking. It was true, the girl was strikingly beautiful, now that he'd had a proper look at her. He _should _have remembered that face.

The girl giggled and blushed prettily, waving a hand at him to stop.

"I've never been good at taking compliments," she explained. "So. You never really answered my question. What are you doing here?"

"Trying to drink myself into an unthinking stupor."

"Well, you're well on your way." Her drink arrived at just that moment, and she held it up in a salute. "To getting shitfaced," she said, and drained it in one gulp. Draco copied her.

"You too?" he asked after the liquor had burned its way down his throat. She nodded, flagging down the bartender again.

"Keep 'em coming," she said to the girl behind the bar. Then she turned back to Draco. "My latest mistake. He cheated on me with his cleaning lady…bastard," she muttered darkly, then brightened slightly, lifting her dark eyes to Draco. "Who are you trying to forget? Tell me all about it - the only thing that will make me feel better just now is hearing that your story is worse than mine."

Draco's eyes widened. "You honestly don't know?" At her blank expression, he shook his head. "Have you been living under a rock or something?" He'd thought everyone knew about his and Hermione's rather public break-up; it had been front-page news in the _Daily Prophet_.

"Actually, I've been out of the country," the girl replied in an amused tone. She looked like she was trying not to laugh. Draco chuckled.

"Sorry. I forget, sometimes, that not everyone is obsessed with my personal life," he said wryly. The girl _did _laugh this time.

"Well, go on. I can tell this is going to be good."

Draco sighed. He might as well forget trying to forget tonight. He settled in and began at the very beginning - with the contract and fake engagement - and led all the way up to the very end - when she finally left him sitting alone in the restaurant. The girl listened attentively, laughing and gasping in all the right places, and even crying at the end.

"It's so sad," she said finally, when Draco had finished at last. "I can't believe it's over. I think it will all work out eventually, though," she said hopefully. "And if it doesn't, well, maybe she's right after all, and you _weren't_ meant to be."

"You believe that nonsense?" he asked her incredulously.

She considered that for a moment. "I'm not so sure it's nonsense. Fate is a powerful thing. It brought you together in the first place, didn't it? Maybe it was just time to move on. Or maybe this is all going to make you stronger as a couple one day."

"Or maybe it's all a load of tripe and she's just being stubborn, as usual," Draco added with a scowl. The girl laughed.

"Or maybe it's a load of tripe. But either way, our drinks aren't coming nearly fast enough for my taste - bartender!"

The girl behind the bar instantly reappeared with two fresh drinks for them. Draco took his gladly and downed it quickly, watching his new acquaintance do the same.

He suddenly became aware of how late it had become as the alcohol burned its way through his system. A quick glance around told him they were practically alone in the small pub; it was probably early morning by now, and most of the other occupants had drifted out in the past few hours.

The second thing that he noticed was how extremely drunk he was all of a sudden. The liquor was catching up to him in a rush, and he felt dizzy. He rested his head in his hands and was vaguely aware of the girl next to him asking if he was all right.

He tried to answer, but could only manage a weak nod.

Then everything went black, and he remembered no more.

* * *

Hermione woke up Saturday morning with her mind set. It was time to be a grown-up about this. She couldn't avoid this forever; it needed to be done.

She twisted the ring on her left hand nervously. She hadn't taken it off, and that worried her a little. It wasn't as if she _couldn't_, though; after all, this ring was _not_ cursed to stay on her finger _till death do us part_.

Been there, done that.

No, she just hadn't taken it off yet. She would, though, and today was the day. She was going to return it.

She thought about Floo-ing directly to Draco's flat and leaving the ring on the table for him to find, disappearing before he could see her. But that was the cowardly way out, and she was nothing if not Gryffindor through and through. Even _Grandmother_ Malfoy had said so.

So she went to her writing desk and penned a quick note to Draco, letting him know she was coming over in a few minutes' time. She sent it with her owl and waited until she was sure it had been long enough for him to get it.

Then she stepped into the emerald flames and held her breath for a different reason than to avoid getting ashes in her mouth.

Seconds later, she spun into Draco's grate, careful not to get ashes on the rug as she stepped out and into his living room.

It felt like years since she'd been here, instead of weeks. She glanced around, expecting to see Draco coming around the corner or appearing in the kitchen doorway. He didn't.

Her eyebrows drew together. Perhaps he wasn't here after all. She decided to check and see if he was in the shower or something and didn't realize she was there. Maybe he hadn't received her message.

She walked down the hall, listening to see if she could hear the shower running. His bedroom door was open a crack.

A familiar snore drifted through the open door and down the hallway to where she was standing. She fought the urge to smile. _He's still asleep_.

Another sound caught her attention just then, and she took another step closer to investigate. _Something's not right_, she thought, suddenly panicky, though she couldn't understand why.

She tiptoed closer and pushed the door open. What she saw nearly made her faint dead away on the spot.

Draco wasn't alone.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the ridiculously long period of time I've gone without updating ANYTHING. I've been battling with some personal issues...depression, an eating disorder, that sort of thing...and I pretty much forgot who I was for about six months there, give or take. I'm feeling much more like myself again, and I'd like to finish this story, and definitely get back into fanfiction. I had forgotten how much I love it.**

**I can tell you that there are at least three chapters after this one that I've already written, and I'm hoping that I write more in the next few days...the writing bug has bitten again, and the plot bunnies are beginning to emerge from their burrows. So, if there's anyone still reading this poor, forgotten story, please let me know you're out there. It would do my heart a world of good, believe me. And feel free to bug me, if you like, into continuing to write. Long days, pleasant nights to you all.**


	11. Chapter 11

"What the _hell_ is going on here?!"

Something was wrong. Draco tried to pull his eyelids up so he could see what it was, but he couldn't get them to cooperate. That was Hermione's voice, somewhere far off, but she was angry or in trouble, he couldn't tell which, and he had to open his eyes so he could help her.

He groaned when he tried to lift his head. It felt like someone had hit him over the head with a club and then run him over with a hippogriff.

"Ow," he managed to say.

He finally managed to drag his eyes open with much effort. His vision blurred and spun, but he focused on Hermione, who was not far away after all, but standing in his doorway. Looking beautiful. And furious.

He figured he must be dreaming, although the pain in his head felt to real to be a dream. How else was Hermione standing in his apartment - at the foot of his bed no less? She never wanted to see him again. She'd made that perfectly clear.

"Ohhh."

Another voice, one which did not belong to either Hermione or himself, groaned from somewhere to his left. He couldn't see who it was, and he tried to twist himself so he could see. His body wasn't cooperating.

"What is this?" Hermione was saying. Draco dragged his attention back to her. His vision was clearing slowly, and he could finally appreciate exactly how angry she looked.

Her eyes were liquid fire, blazing as she glared a hole right through him and into the headboard behind him; her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides, her right one twitching toward her wand. Draco could almost see sparks coming out of the tips of her hair in her fury. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"What happened?" the groggy voice from his left drawled slowly. Finally, Draco could see who it was as the owner of the voice propped up on one elbow.

"M-Mandy?" he said, stunned. He had no idea how she ended up here, in his _bed_ of all places. She put a hand to her head and turned slightly to look at Draco.

Then she noticed Hermione, and glanced quickly back and forth between Draco and the angry vision at the door, her eyes growing wider with every second.

"Oh my _God_," she whispered. "Hermione Granger."

"Oh, yes, let's all go out and have a lovely breakfast, now that we've all been introduced, shall we?"

Draco's eyes snapped back to Hermione, whom he'd almost forgotten in his shock at finding the girl from last night in his bed. _Oh no! No, no, no, no, no!_

The stupid words rushed from his lips before he could stop them.

"Hermione, no! It isn't what it seems!" he was trying in vain to scramble out of the bed, realizing with belated relief that he was still wearing his boxers, not moving very quickly because his head was stabbing agonizingly with every movement. He hadn't made it out of the entanglement of bedclothes before Hermione was backing towards the door.

"What is it, then? Because it _seems_ as if you've got a naked girl in your bed this morning, _Draco_," she spat, taking another backwards step towards the door.

"I swear I don't know what happened," he said more slowly, trying to remember the details of last night, and failing miserably. All he could remember was telling the girl all about Hermione.

"Honestly, Draco, I don't think I _want_ to know _what_ happened." Another step. She was almost to the door now.

"_Nothing_ happened!" Mandy was protesting helplessly from the bed. Probably she figured it was best if she didn't get up; Draco wished she would keep her mouth shut as well.

"Oh, please, I don't need to hear _your_ version of the story," Hermione growled. "I only came by to return _this_," she wrenched her engagement ring off her finger violently and threw it at the bed, "and really, what you do for the rest of your life is none of my business now. I never want to see your face again for as long as I live. Now, please, don't let me interrupt your fun."

She turned on her heel and stormed from the room. Draco tried to follow her down the hall, but she was gone before he reached the living room.

When he returned to his bedroom, Mandy was already dressed and sitting on the end of his bed. She looked exactly the way he felt. Miserable.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she apologized before he could even open his mouth.

"Did…anything…happen last night?" he asked wretchedly. He hoped she hadn't been lying before. He'd been so drunk last night he honestly couldn't remember.

"No," she replied immediately. "I don't _think_ so. The last thing I remember is you telling me your story, and us talking about fate."

Draco snorted. Fate. Where was fate _now_?

"Well, fate sure isn't doing us any favors today," he said, kicking the bedpost angrily. "If only I could _remember_," he groaned. He snatched up his robes and pulled them on roughly. Then he collapsed onto the bed. Something small and hard poked him in the leg.

He reached underneath himself and grabbed it. It was Hermione's engagement ring.

"I guess it's really over, isn't it? She'll never forgive me."

"I'm so sorry, Draco," Mandy said again. "I feel like this is all my fault."

"No," he groaned. "It's definitely my fault. I didn't love her well enough, that's all. If I had, she would never have doubted me in the first place."

"I wish there was something I could do…send me an owl if I can help in any way, okay?" she was saying now. Draco barely heard her.

"The only thing that could help me right now would be a Time-Turner…and even that wouldn't help in the long run. She'd already given up on us, anyway."

With one last small, sad smile, the girl was gone, and Draco was alone.

* * *

December

* * *

January

* * *

February

* * *

"Hermione! The best news!"

Hermione turned from her kitchen sink to see the girl with the flaming red hair come rushing through the front door without knocking, as usual.

"What is it?"

"Fleur's pregnant!"

"Wow, really? That's great," Hermione replied, her enthusiasm surprising even herself. She was actually excited for Ginny's sister-in-law; she didn't even have to pretend. "I remember her telling us at Christmas they were going to try."

"Yeah, Mum's over the moon, too," Ginny continued, sitting down at Hermione's table as if she owned it. Hermione laughed and sat down too, bringing her cup of coffee with her.

"I'll bet."

"She's already talking with Fleur about names and decorating the nursery and everything. It's really annoying, actually," she confided. "That's why I'm here."

"Oh, not because you love me or anything," Hermione replied, amused.

"I also thought I'd help you get ready for your big date," Ginny added slyly. Hermione sighed. She'd been afraid of that.

"How many people know?"

"Nobody really. Unless you count me, Dad, Mum, Fred and George, Bill and Fleur," she listed, ticking the names off on her fingers. Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Charlie probably hasn't gotten the owl yet," Ginny added with a sheepish smile.

Hermione growled.

"Well, really, what can you expect? People are a little excited."

"I'm going to _kill_ Ron and Harry."

"Oh, come on. Don't deny me my little fun. You're going to let me help you get ready, right?"

"Actually, I'm not so sure that I'm still going."

"_Hermione_," Ginny whined. "It's been _forever_. One little date isn't going to hurt anything. You have to get back out there; to try to move on. _He _has," she added in an undertone. Hermione felt as if her chest was going to implode.

"Please, I don't want to hear about it," she pleaded, putting her face in her hands.

It was true, though. She'd seen the picture in the paper yesterday. There he was, beautiful blonde Astoria Greengrass at his side. They'd been having dinner at some fancy restaurant or other, and someone had snapped their photo. Laughing. Looking happy.

While Hermione struggled to get through the day without hyperventilating.

Truth be told, that was why she'd accepted this date in the first place. Ernie MacMillan had been pestering her for weeks, and he was really a nice guy, after all. She'd seen the paper and Ernie had walked in her office in the same minute. It had been an impulse decision.

And now she was remembering why she never made those kinds of decisions.

"This will be good for you, trust me," Ginny assured her.

"Whatever you say."

Two hours later, Hermione was ready. Ginny had styled her hair, done her make up, and picked out her outfit. Hermione was exhausted already. She hurriedly pushed Ginny out the door at a quarter till eight.

"He'll _be _here any minute," she complained as Ginny winked at her. Then the redhead turned on the spot and was gone.

Hermione breathed a momentary sigh of relief. _I wonder if it's too late to call Ernie and tell him I'm sick,_ she thought.

No such luck. A second after she closed the door, there was a knock.

"Here we go," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone for all your lovely reviews and support! I feel loved. I was very glad to see familiar names attached to the reviews; nice to know you guys are still keeping up with this story, even after all this time! Big hugs to all of you!**

**Oh, and I do apologize for leaving you on cliffies so much, but they don't call me the "queen of cliffhangers" for nothin. Okay, so that's not an official title or anything, it's something a friend of mine once called me, but it is kind of fitting, ne? Hehehe.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N : Know what? I really don't like this chapter that much. Myeh. It's kind of the obligatory filler chapter. I hope that you guys don't mind. :D**

* * *

As it turned out, Hermione had a better time on her date than she ever would have imagined.

Ernie had mellowed out quite a bit since graduation; he was no longer the pompous, pretentious Ernie of yesteryear. He had turned into a really nice guy, and Hermione actually found herself laughing and talking easily with him.

When he asked her out for another date, she readily agreed.

Now two weeks had passed, and the dark cloud that had seemed to cover her entire existence had begun to lift at last. She could actually go through an entire day, barely noticing the pain she felt every time she drew breath.

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from the paper on her desk with a bright smile.

"Oh, hi, Ernie, come in; I was just finishing up here…"

She stacked the pile of parchment neatly and then gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Ernie sat, his dark hair short and neat, his robes carefully brushed and shoes perfectly polished. _Here _was the kind of guy that everyone expected her to be with.

She tried not to think about why that was ironic.

Ernie smiled back at her and folded his hands on the edge of her desk, leaning forward.

"I have something for you."

Hermione froze. "I'm sorry?"

He chuckled. "What day is it, Hermione?"

"Wednesday?"

Ernie rolled his eyes. "Really?" He laughed again, then reached into his robes and pulled out a small, heart-shaped box. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Hermione took the box, feeling momentarily horrified. "I'm so sorry, Ernie! I can't believe I forgot! Th-thank you," she added, opening the box of chocolates and taking a piece. She held the box over her desk and offered him a piece as well. He took one, still chuckling.

"You'll just have to make it up to me."

"How?" she asked warily, one eyebrow raised.

Ernie's dark eyes became serious as he rested his forearms on her desk and leaned forward. This really should have made her heart skip a beat, if she knew what was good for her. But the way he was staring intently at her merely piqued her curiosity, nothing more.

"Come with me to the Valentine's ball they're having at the _Enchanted_ tonight."

Hermione's mouth fell open. She hadn't been expecting _this_. A date here and there was one thing; she could justify that. But this was different. The last ball she'd been to…had been for _his_ birthday. The last time she'd been to the _Enchanted_, it had been because _he_ had taken her there to apologize.

"I-I don't have anything to wear," she invented quickly. This was actually quite true. She only owned two fancy dresses: the one she had saved from the fourth year Yule Ball (sentimental value, of course), and the one other, the one she could barely think about.

The one _his_ mother had picked out for her.

The dress she'd worn to _his_ birthday party was carefully packed away in a box full of tissue paper and tucked into the highest corner of her closet, where she tried not to remember it existed.

Meanwhile, Ernie was waving his hand dismissively.

"So Ginny gets to take you shopping. And if you refuse, you know I'll only drop by and see her this afternoon and let it slip…" he trailed off with a grin. Hermione glowered at him.

"You should have been in Slytherin," she mumbled without thinking.

It had been a fairly innocent comment, of course. Ernie barely even seemed to notice it, but she did, and the effect of her thoughtless words was immediate. The pain in her chest was back full force, after having been dulled for days, and it almost tore her in two with its intensity.

But Ernie was smiling and rising from his chair now; Hermione waved him goodbye. He obviously took her silence for annoyance and was chuckling as he disappeared through the door.

Hermione fought back the tears that were threatening to fall traitorously down over her cheeks; she hadn't cried yet, and she wouldn't cry now. She was stronger than that.

It didn't look like she was going to be able to escape this – _ball_ – Ernie was insistent on dragging her to, so she decided she'd better be the one to tell Ginny.

She packed up her things and left the office thirty minutes early.

* * *

"Draco, are you even listening?"

"What? Oh, yes of course," he mumbled, shaking his head slightly to clear it. Astoria was glaring at him. What had she been talking about? "You were saying…"

"My dress for the ball? I was reminding you to get me red roses in my bouquet to match it."

"Right." The ball. Of _course_ that was what she was going on about. It was all she had been talking about for the past week and a half. "I'll remember."

He wasn't really sure how he'd gotten to this point. The past few months were a bit of a blur. He remembered his mother's unbearable sympathy, his father's grim triumph, and his own despair as he attempted to kill himself with alcohol. Unfortunately, that hadn't worked. Yet.

His grandmother had gone right to work trying to find a replacement for _her_, and he had gone along with it, simply for lack of energy to fight against the inevitable. There simply wasn't any reason to try anymore.

In the end, he had given in completely and gone out with Astoria, hoping she would be as nice as her sister had been. Daphne would have probably been his first choice, if he were forced to make one; at least they'd gotten along. But she had left the country, moving to a warmer climate for her health.

He couldn't remember, really, what that first date had been like. Thankfully, Astoria didn't need much prompting to talk for hours on end, so Draco really didn't have to pay more than minimal attention to what she was saying.

The only thing he remembered clearly was something so insignificant that even Astoria probably didn't remember it.

They had been sitting at the table eating dinner, and she was prattling on about something or other, when she accidentally tipped her water over with one of her elbows. Instead of blowing up and getting angry, as Draco had expected her to do, she blushed crimson and glanced up for his reaction.

"Oops," she had muttered, and Draco had laughed, his first real laugh in he couldn't remember when. She hadn't meant to – she was probably just nervous and seeking his approval – but she reminded him so much of Hermione in that moment that he had been shocked into laughter. His thoughts rushed back to an entirely different dinner, many months ago…

_Hermione laughed as she pushed him slightly, causing him to slosh his drink all over her sofa. He expected her to be angry because he'd probably ruined the upholstery, but instead, color rushed to her cheeks and she quickly pulled out her wand to remedy the damage._

"_Oops," she said sheepishly. "Sorry, Draco, I didn't mean…"_

_Draco laughed. "Leave it to you to apologize for my lack of dexterity," he had said teasingly._

But Draco immediately shut the memory off in his head. He wasn't allowed to think of her, not now, not ever. _That way leads to madness_, he told himself firmly.

So he settled back in and tried a little harder to pay attention to what the girl beside him was saying. At least Astoria was a solid, flesh-and-blood witch, not an impossible dream that he would never have again. That was healthy.

Healthier than dwelling on a hopeless past and thwarted future that was never, ever coming back.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Draco dutifully picked up the red roses. He dressed in his best dress robes. He went to pick Astoria up, barely noticing the too-tight and too- revealing red dress she was wearing. A Muggle limousine had been arranged to pick them up. Astoria chattered away the whole ride; Draco barely heard her.

When they entered the _Enchanted_, he was vaguely aware of the vulgar Valentine's Day décor; he didn't pay it much attention as Astoria practically dragged him through the crowd and into the middle of the dance floor.

_Of course,_ he thought, resisting the urge to yawn. _She picks the most conspicuous place in the room, the better to be seen by the most people at once._

He plastered a smile on his face and they began to dance. She _did_ dance well, he had to give her that, but he wasn't surprised. Proper upbringing and all of that. He admitted to himself that they probably did make a very pretty pair to anyone watching them now.

He concentrated on the steps of the dance, more so now than he ever had before; he usually never gave his feet a second thought when he was dancing. But lately, he found it unwise to allow his mind to wander freely. Better to keep his thoughts busy, and since Astoria was unbearably boring most of the time and especially just now, he thought about his feet and recited the twelve uses for dragon's blood inside his head.

But just then, something happened that broke his concentration completely.

The song ended. Amidst the applause that followed, he noticed a movement by the large double entrance doors; someone was arriving, and causing a slight stir in the process. Astoria scowled beside him. Draco smirked. She didn't like attention being drawn away from her.

He saw one of the witches near them turn to her date and smack him on the shoulder. Interesting. He glanced at Astoria, who was fuming. Draco could almost see smoke coming out of her ears. _Must be a pretty girl_, he mused.

Just then, the crowds around him parted slightly, and he could see the cause for the disturbance.

* * *

"Everyone is staring."

"Yes. Yes, they are."

"Is there something wrong with my face? I knew I shouldn't have let Ginny loose with the makeup," she hissed as they made their way through the parting crowd, her arm tucked in the crook of Ernie's elbow. She desperately wanted to bury her face in his shoulder like a shy two-year-old, but she forced her chin up instead and kept walking. Ernie patted her hand comfortingly.

"They're staring because you're the most beautiful woman in this room," he whispered. Hermione felt her cheeks color, and she smiled slightly at that. "That's it, we're almost through them now," he murmured. He was positively glowing, though, and Hermione knew he was extremely proud to have her on his arm. She didn't really know how she felt about that. Somehow, it put a sour taste in her mouth.

She tried to fix her eyes on a spot just above the heads of the people who were staring shamelessly at them, but her eyes wandered anyway without her permission. She didn't know anyone here.

Harry and Ginny had stayed in tonight. He was _cooking_ _dinner_ for her, and Hermione tried not to shudder as she thought of Harry's cooking skills. But really, it was very sweet.

Ron was out of town. He had a pen-friend in France that wanted to meet him for Valentine's Day; a pretty blonde witch who was completely enamored with him solely based on his exploits with Harry during the last war. Hermione rolled her eyes at the mere thought of _that_.

Her eyes landed on a random spot in the crowd, and someone moved just slightly in that moment, leaving a small gap in the group of people.

Brown eyes met grey ones and locked there for the tiniest of seconds.

Then a forced smile – though she couldn't be sure it _was_ forced – and a second later he was twirling his partner back onto the dance floor.

He was here. With _her_.

Hermione couldn't breathe. Her heart didn't seem to want to function properly. She grasped onto Ernie's arm with her other hand as well, now, and he turned his dark gaze to her quickly, concern written all over his face.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she gasped, trying to force herself to breathe. She wasn't about to have a panic attack right here and embarrass herself further. She wondered if anyone had seen. Her rational brain told her probably not; the exchange had taken less than a minute.

"Do you want to sit down?" Ernie was asking her.

Hermione thought about that for a moment. No, she didn't. What she really wanted was to leave here and run as fast and as far away from here as she could. But her pride wouldn't let her do that.

So she allowed Ernie to lead her out onto the dance floor and pull her into his arms as the music began to play again.

* * *

**A/N 2: Yay! A chapter that didn't end on a horrible cliffie! I'm proud. I hope you all liked this chappie better than I did. :P **

**Also, thanks for all the reviews! I'm sorry I didn't respond to them individually, but I've had finals and blah blah blah you don't care about that, but I'm finished with school until the fall, so hopefully I will use that time to finish some unfinished stories and start on some new ones! That sounds so wonderful you can't even begin to imagine. I've missed ficcing.**


	13. Chapter 13

Gossip swirled in the corners of the big ballroom; Hermione Granger had just entered on the arm of a handsome young Ministry employee, and they were dancing now, in the same room, _sharing the same dance floor _with Draco Malfoy and his rumored fiancee.

A bright whirlpool of dress robes in every color imaginable surged on the dance floor, the music and laughter and shrieks of merriment almost a complete sensory overload, spinning out of control and beginning to sound distorted and even demonic, assaulting the girl's ears as she tried to keep her head. She had begun to feel as she had once when she had taken an overly large sip of Firewhiskey at Harry's last birthday party; she hadn't liked it then, and she certainly didn't like feeling it now.

She could _hear_ the gossip; the offenders weren't bothering to avert their stares or even to keep their voices down as she and Ernie glided past them in the steps of the waltz that was playing.

Worse, she knew all eyes were on her for a completely different reason as well, one that she was never going to get used to, it seemed. Ginny had been a bit over-zealous with the picking of her dress robes – the garment fit like a second skin and was cut too low for Hermione's taste, although (and this she didn't realize because of her own distaste for it) it wasn't nearly as bad as she imagined it to be.

In fact, it was quite beautiful, the fabric resembled liquid silver and while it _did_ cling to her as if it were a cascade of water down her body, it was done in a tasteful way that she might have liked under different circumstances. The neckline, which was nowhere near as low as Hermione fancied it to be, was a halter-style that fastened behind her neck and under the thick mass of her hair, which Ginny had styled into smooth, loose curls.

Her makeup was simple: dark, smoky eyes (she'd never worn her eye makeup like that before) and barely any other cosmetics at all. Here Ginny had agreed with her, finally. Less, she had said, was sometimes more. Hermione had heaved a sigh of relief at that.

But now, in the middle of a crowded ballroom and surrounded by prying eyes and gossiping tongues, she thought maybe she would have liked to have some of her mother's vanishing cream, had it only worked the way she imagined it did when she was a little girl. She giggled before she could stop herself.

"What is it?" Ernie asked with a surprised smile. He twirled her out and then back into his arms again, and it was Hermione's turn to be surprised.

"I never knew you were such a lovely dancer," she remarked almost breathlessly as he steadied her with strong, capable hands when she nearly lost her balance.

"You never asked," Ernie chuckled. "Now why were you laughing if it wasn't at my dancing proficiency?"

Hermione smiled, letting her mind drift back to a brightly-lit room, a counter that was eye-level, the row of different-shaped bottles and tubes and containers that were lined carefully, and the pair of brown eyes under a shock of frizzy hair that stared back at her from the mirror set behind it all.

"I was remembering being four years old, standing at my mother's vanity," she said in a slightly dreamy voice. "I saw a tub of something labeled 'vanishing cream,' and it frightened me a bit." She paused to laugh and shake her head. "My mother laughed so hard when I asked her if it really made things disappear…she tried to explain to me, and I understood, but I still liked to imagine that it was –" here she collapsed into almost hysterical laughter and Ernie finished her sentence for her:

"Magic?" He was laughing now, too. Hermione, helpless with mirth, could only nod. Their laughter subsided after a few minutes, and Ernie stared at her in slight awe for a moment.

"What?" she asked, a bit impatiently now. She never would get used to being stared at like that, and it seemed as though Ernie would never be able to stop looking at her that way.

"You're telling me you could _read_ when you were four years old?"

This question surprised her and she laughed again, nodding. Whatever she had been expecting, she certainly hadn't exactly been expecting that.

Ernie let out a low whistle. "You just get more interesting all the time, don't you?"

Hermione's laughter stopped a bit abruptly. She forced another chuckle and was thankfully saved by the end of the waltz as everyone stopped dancing and began to applaud.

She had been afraid this was going to happen. She had first suspected it when he had invited her to this blasted _dance_, and he had confirmed it several times already this evening; her fears were coming true and she felt helpless to stop it from happening. He was getting serious, and as much as she liked Ernie, she just couldn't _do_ serious right now. If ever. And certainly not with him.

That realization almost knocked the breath out of her and she could feel the panic attack returning. When had she decided that she couldn't see a serious future with Ernie? Apparently, she just had.

Ernie looked at her with a bit of alarm. "Are you all right?" he asked, hand on her arm as if to steady her. Maybe she looked like she needed steadying. She probably did. All she knew was she needed to get away from this spot, she needed to be alone, she needed to _think_. God, she couldn't _think_ in here. She couldn't _breathe_.

"Yes," she choked, then steadied her voice and smiled at Ernie in a way she hoped looked genuine. "Just a little out of breath. I think I need to step out for a moment, that's all."

"All right, then, let's go find a nice, quiet room," Ernie said, taking her elbow in that way she hated and he began to lead her from the dance floor. She snatched her arm away before she thought better of it, and Ernie's face dropped slightly. Enough to shame her.

"Sorry, sorry, you startled me," she said in a rush, feeling terrible. She didn't want to upset him, after all, he was a good friend. A good _friend_. She smiled a horribly false (to her, it felt that way) smile and took his hand. "I think I need to visit the ladies' room and perhaps splash a bit of water on my face," she said as kindly as she could. Ernie nodded, looking a bit better.

On impulse, Hermione pulled him into a tight hug. Surprised, he wrapped his arms around her and returned it immediately. She raised her face to rest against his cheek and her mouth against his ear. His breath hitched, she noticed, and felt a spasm of guilt in her stomach. _I'm really sorry, Ernie_, she thought, _but I can't give you my heart. It died…and I'm afraid no one will ever be able to bring it back._

"Thank you," she murmured into his ear. His arms tightened around her, and she hated herself for her next words, because she knew they would hurt him, "– for being such a good friend," she finished, and she felt those same arms stiffen around her and that same spasm of guilt, only this time, a feeling of relief washed over her at the same time and she knew she didn't regret her words. She hugged him tighter for a moment, then dropped a chaste kiss on his cheek, and fled.

She couldn't bring herself to look at his face; she blindly fought through the crowd and slipped through the nearest door she could find. She found herself in a small room off the big ballroom, and she sank into the nearest chair. She had intended to get somewhere she could be alone and then allow the panic attack to take over, but now that she was alone, she felt…strangely calm.

"I suppose they're beginning to let just _anyone_ attend these little parties now," a cold voice drawled suddenly from the shadows, and Hermione started violently. She had been quite sure she was alone.

The voice was so familiar to her she would have recognized it anywhere, and the last thing she wanted to be was alone with the owner of it.

"Good evening to you, too," she managed to respond instead of spilling the string of insults that had immediately jumped into her head. She would not stoop to his level. She wouldn't.

"You and…_Master_ Macmillan looked lovely together on the dance floor tonight…jumping from one pureblood line to another, _Miss _Granger? While I understand your desire to pass on even the slightest drop of pure blood to your…descendants…it's hardly becoming of a girl your age to be skittering around from beau to beau as if they matter little more than the robes you choose to wear from day to day."

"I hardly think it's any of your concern," Hermione bit out. As little regard as she held for Lucius Malfoy, his comments had stung, nonetheless. She was _not_ jumping around, especially not in the way he insinuated…like some…_trollop!_

She rose to her feet, determined to salvage some of her dignity. She thanked her lucky stars that she _hadn't_ broken down and had her attack of nerves, or worse, _cried_ in front of this man! She couldn't bear the thought. She straightened her dress and looked him square in the eye, for he had now emerged from the shadows, much like the creeping snake that he was.

"How dare you sit in judgment over me when your own _son_ is rumored to be engaged again so soon! When only a few months ago I found him in bed with…" she couldn't finish. The tears were already beginning to sting the backs of her eyes. Much longer and she_ would_ disgrace herself by letting them fall. "And now he's out there on the dance floor with the pureblood hussy I'm sure _you_ hand-picked for him. Speaking of blood, you seem to have quite a slippery memory of exactly how dirty _my_ blood is. Although I would _much_ rather be a Muggle-born, or even a _Muggle_ than have to deal with the likes of you and your family ever again. Don't you sit upon your high horse and pretend that I'm at fault for this. You and your damned mother know where the blame lies. And if you don't, you should take a long hard look in that looking-glass behind you, and she in hers. Good evening, Mr. Malfoy, and if I never see your face again, it will be all too soon."

Chin raised, defiance and righteous fury blazing from every pore of her skin, she swept from the room, slamming the door as hard as she could behind her. She cut across the dance floor to the nearest exit, neither noticing nor caring when more than a few heads turned her way as she crossed the room.

When she had gained the perimeter of the Non-Apparition charm that had been placed upon the _Enchanted_, she turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack that was significantly muffled by the noise of the party in the other room.

* * *

**A/N : Sorry about the wait, everyone! I've been HORRENDOUSLY sick this past week and today I'm actually feeling halfway-human. Hope you enjoyed Hermione's little rant at Lucius as much as I did! It was fun, and Lucius hadn't seen any "camera-time" yet in this story, so I was delighted when he showed up at the Valentine's Ball. See you next time!**


	14. Chapter 14

_She never cared about you_.

The words echoed in Draco's mind. Ever since seeing her again at that damned ball, he couldn't get the image of her out of his head. It was burned into his memory; her dancing in the arms of that wanker, Macmillan, smiling up into his face, his hands on her waist, in her hair…

The quill he had been holding in his hand snapped in half, the feather dangling uselessly, ink splattering on the paper. He growled and _Evanesco_'ed the mess, pulling out a clean sheaf of parchment and trying to remember what he had been going to write.

He balled the ruined parchment up in his fist.

His father had mentioned in passing that he had spoken to Hermione at the ball, although how and why they had met he would not say, only that she had said those horrible words that were now banging around the inside of his tortured skull.

_Never cared._

A very small part of him hoped his father wasn't telling the truth. It was extremely possible he was lying, twisting the knife in Draco's chest for no other reason than for the simple pleasure of it.

But most of him knew that it made far too much sense; that somewhere in his mind he always knew it was too good to be true that she should love him.

Who could blame her? Hadn't he been over this so many times in his own mind? It made no sense for someone as good as she always had been to want to be with him, with his history and his bad blood (oh, the irony) and his past alliance with the darkness. Perhaps she had only been with him before out of pity, and now she had finally found someone who fit her, who was good enough and smart enough and…

"Fuck," he spat as the new quill he had picked up broke under the pressure of his fist. He tossed it aside and gave it all up as a bad job. He honestly couldn't remember what he had been going to write. Some sort of owl to Astoria, he remembered vaguely.

Hah. Like any of it mattered, really. Astoria would make his father and grandmother happy. She fit the bill for the next perfect Malfoy bride. She would give him sons, heirs to the Malfoy name. He would be miserable, of course, but then, wasn't that was marriage was all about?

Love was for commoners.

Fuck.

Funny how it never used to bother him when he was younger. He always assumed that he would marry one day; a suitable pureblooded witch whom he would respect for giving him heirs, but would not love. He thought perhaps he would have several mistresses on the side as well, but he would not love them, either.

Love made people weak. And to Draco, it hadn't even seemed necessary.

Damn Hermione Granger for turning his world upside down and ruining his chances of ever being happy with his lot in life!

It was as if she had never appeared in his life at all, only now he knew what he had been missing. Now it was hell scraping through the days, forcing himself to go through the motions of tasks he would have reveled in if he'd never held her.

Damn her.

Every moment was hell because he had fallen from heaven.

* * *

Another month passed.

Hermione locked herself in her apartment for the duration of it, riding out the end of February and on into the month of March without stepping foot outside its doors, taking the Floo Network directly to the Ministry and back again every weekday, then hiding in the shadows of her darkened living room on the weekends.

Well, not _hiding_, certainly. She just preferred not to actually have to see the sunlight these days, that was all. It was too…_bright_.

And the more that she avoided contact with the outside world – no longer receiving the _Prophet_, for instance – the less she would have to deal with the rumors that were circulating about a certain person, rumors that almost always involved him being engaged and extremely, disgustingly happy.

Horrifyingly happy.

This – although she wouldn't have admitted it to anyone – was the reason she didn't go outside anymore. The sunlight hurt when her heart was so dark. The laughter of people on the streets sounded to her like screaming.

In short, she was slowly losing her mind. So slowly, in fact, that she didn't even notice as it slipped away.

* * *

"I know, Ducky."

Draco started. He had been bent over his shoelace and hadn't noticed his mother even entering the room. Now he looked up and sighed as he settled back onto the couch he was sitting on, leaning back and shading his eyes with his hand. He stretched, feeling the slight pressure in his spine let go with a series of quiet pops.

"What is it that you know, Mother?" he asked, dragging his hand down over his face as he spoke so the words came out slightly muffled.

He felt movement on the couch next to him, the slight dipping in the cushion as she sat down.

"You don't want to do this."

Draco fought the urge to jump up from the couch and throw a temper tantrum right there in the middle of his parents' sitting room. Of _course_ he didn't. He had been protesting all along, hadn't he?

That thought brought him up short, though.

_Had_ he been protesting? He thought about it. No, he decided he hadn't. He had been going along with the ride, trying not to make waves. Just breathing in and out and trying to make it through the day without jumping off any buildings.

He couldn't stop himself from uttering a dry chuckle at that.

Now he turned his attention to his mother, who was looking at him as if deeply concerned. Hell, she probably _was_ concerned. He tried to think back to his recent behavior to see if he had done anything to warrant concern.

In truth, he couldn't remember.

When you were just existing from one day to the next, time became kind of a sketchy thing.

So instead of throwing that temper tantrum like he had been tempted to do, he shifted his weight on the couch, looked his mother in the eyes, and put on his best, brightest I'm-completely-fine-and-not-suicidal-or-anything-like-that-so-please-don't-worry-about-me smile.

"I want to do this," he said firmly. He was vaguely surprised at how sincere his own voice sounded as he uttered the lie.

"Draco," his mother tried, but he cut her off.

"Look, I've made a commitment. It's a good thing, this. So maybe I've had a few…personal issues. I'm not backing out. I won't regret it." He took his mother's hands in his. "My mother taught me that family was the most important thing. And this…well it's about family, isn't it? Making a family stronger."

Narcissa waited to see if her son was through speaking, then took a deep breath.

"You don't have to do it, you know," she said, searching his eyes. "I know you think you're doing this for me, but it really isn't as important to me as you think it is, Ducky." Draco sighed. "It isn't. And after…" here she seemed to choose her next words carefully "…everything that happened earlier this year, darling, you could hardly be expected to –"

"You know what? Don't. Please don't. Don't pity me. No one else does." He was standing up now, without realizing he had even dropped her hands. "It's only a trade-off, anyway. One wedding for another. I just want to forget that last year ever happened. What better way to get on with my life, right? A little walk down the aisle? Besides," he added with a cynical grin – a grin which held a hint of madness underneath it – "it's in all the papers, isn't it? It's been announced. I'm not going to dishonor you and _Father_ by backing out of a commitment in front of the entire wizarding community. I was brought up better than that."

Narcissa sighed. Draco saw the look on her face and realized he had gone ahead and thrown that temper tantrum after all. The maniacal grin slipped off his face.

"All right, son," she said quietly, eyes downcast and hands folded neatly in her lap. "Keep your commitment." She raised her eyes. "But I will love you either way."

Draco could stand the weight of her gaze no longer. He turned and left.

* * *

"Do you think we should say something to her?"

"Like what? It doesn't even matter."

"But if she hears something…it could sound bad, you know."

Harry set his butterbeer down on the table with a bit more force than was expressly necessary.

"Would it matter?" He shook his head firmly. "I don't want her hearing any news from _that_ family, if you _don't_ mind. Hasn't she been through enough?"

Ron shrugged. "I still think we should say _something_."

"What would we say? She doesn't _want_ to know. She's stopped taking the paper, she's stopped answering owls, she's even stopped coming in to work now, it isn't like she wants – "

"Wait, what? She's stopped coming to work?"

Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "One of the interns from her department is friends with Ginny. Said Hermione hasn't been in to the office in about two weeks. She's apparently been sending her work in via owl…" He trailed off. Ron's eyes widened.

"Two _weeks_? That isn't like her at all…I mean, the rest of this stuff you might be able to brush off as just Hermione-ish…not going out much, even not taking the paper, since the war is over, there hasn't been much of interest in there except for executions and weddings…but not coming in to work? For _two weeks_?"

"You've said," Harry cut across him as Ron opened his mouth to continue. He closed his eyes tight and massaged the bridge of his nose under his glasses, where a slight headache was beginning to form. "But haven't you noticed, Ron? She's stopped talking to everyone." He opened his eyes and looked Ron square in the face, emphasizing his next two words, "_Including us_."

Ron scoffed.

"Oh, she'll talk to us, all right," he said in a dismissive tone, waving a hand carelessly to the side, sweeping the point away as if it were a pesky fly. "She'll _have _to. We'll go over there right now," standing up, "and talk some sense into her." He drained his butterbeer and slammed it on the table along with a tip for their waitress. When Harry didn't move, he raised his eyebrows at him. "You coming?"

"And what will we do when we get there?" Harry asked quietly.

"Drag her out, kicking and screaming, of course." As if this were the most obvious answer in the world.

Harry raised his own eyebrows in reply and gestured to the discarded _Daily Prophet_ that lay on the table between them.

"Oh, all right, we won't tell her. Happy? Now come on."

* * *

**A/N - Sorry for the wait, guys! I'm trying to get back on top of this story...there are about five more chapters after this one, I'm pretty sure, in case anybody is wondering. And ohmigosh I have the best readers! There have been so many awesome reviews for this story and Change of Heart in the past few weeks...it makes meh happeh to get good reviews (and makes me want to write, too, hehehe). So review and let me know you're out there and you want this story finished! Pretty please?**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Wow. I've been MIA for a while now. So sorry, you guys. I've had some questions about whether or not I intended to finish this story, and I'd like to answer with an emphatic YES. I know exactly how this story is going to play out and end; I just need to get it written out so you guys can know, too. :) I'd really like to have this story FINISHED finally, so I can lose my reputation as the-girl-who-starts-stories-and-never-finishes-them. Sorry the wait has been so long on this one, y'all, but here you go. Enjoy! Is anyone even still out there?**

* * *

As it turned out, Harry and Ron didn't get the chance to drag Hermione out of her apartment kicking and screaming after all. When no amount of knocking or yelling through her door produced an answer, Ron and Harry took themselves to the front desk. The wizened old desk clerk looked genuinely surprised to see them.

"Miss Granger, you say? Why, she's been gone almost a week now."

"What do you mean, 'gone'?" Ron spluttered, going red round the ears. "How can she have gone?"

"She moved out, young sir," the clerk replied slowly, as if Ron were mentally challenged in some way. "Didn't she tell ya?"

"Er," stammered Harry, "not exactly. Did she say where she was going?"

The clerk shook his head. "Didn't say much of anything, that one. Sent a note. Next day she was gone."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, astonished. The only thing left to do was pick their jaws up off the floor, thank the desk clerk for his help (or lack thereof), and leave the way they'd come.

* * *

_Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

Hermione glanced over to the window of her bedroom. A large, tawny owl was sitting on the sill, tapping the glass importantly. She crossed the room and let up the glass, and the bird soared imperiously into the room, landing gracefully on the foot of Hermione's bed. Tied to its leg was an official-looking envelope.

Hermione hurried to untie it, eager to hear Newt Scamander's opinion of the new proposal she had sent to him yesterday. She had been sending her work to the office by owl for two weeks now, and she had to admit, she almost preferred it this way.

She didn't have to face the pitying glances from the other girls on her floor, or hear them whisper among themselves when she left her office. It had almost been too much to bear; how was she ever going to get _over_ this whole mess if no one would let her _forget _it?

A sudden noise from the window made her stop short of opening the thick envelope in her hand. She spun round, a lump sticking firmly in her throat when she saw a second owl perched on the windowsill, as if waiting to be invited in.

"Hedwig," Hermione gasped, her hand at her heart. "I didn't see you there…well of course I was distracted…I've been quite busy lately, you know…work has been…well…oh listen to me, blathering on to an owl… no offense, Hedwig, I just meant…well…what have you got there?" she finished, rather nervously eyeing the letter tied to the snowy owl's own leg.

Hedwig drew herself up imperiously and held out her leg rather gingerly, as though unwilling to allow Hermione to touch her. Hermione's heart plummeted into her stomach and she reached instead for a small tin of owl treats she kept nearby for when the owls from the Ministry came with her work; turning back to Hedwig, she smiled her warmest smile and offered the treat to her.

Hedwig tilted her head almost completely upside down and studied Hermione for a moment, then gave a small _hoo_ and clamped her beak gently on the treat, being careful to avoid Hermione's fingers. Hermione sighed with relief and stroked the bird's soft feathers; they were friends again.

"If only it were going to be that easy with _them_," she sighed, untying the letter at last and watching Hedwig and the Ministry owl swoop back off through the early morning sky. She took a deep, calming breath and unrolled the letter.

_Hermione, _

_You're lucky we didn't send a Howler. _

_Where have you been? Why didn't you let us know you were moving back home? Do you have any idea how worried we've been about you? _

_It's one thing to shut out the rest of the world, but we're supposed to be your best friends._

_We miss you. Ron and I will be in London today during our lunch breaks. It'd be great to see you there, too._

_Harry_

Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding.

Harry was right. It _was_ one thing to shut out the rest of the world, but quite another to become a recluse who never even saw her best friends anymore.

She made up her mind to meet them for lunch. She was going to start _living _again.

Even if it killed her.

* * *

Draco stood before the floor-length looking glass, trying to remember how to breathe.

He tugged at the bow tie around his neck, feeling as if all the air in the room had been sucked out.

Today was the big day. Wedding bells and all of that.

He couldn't back out now; it was far too late for cold feet.

_Dum dum da dum_.

* * *

"Do you think she'll come?" Ron asked, looking nervously around the Leaky Cauldron.

"She isn't going to appear out of thin air, Ron, you can relax," Harry replied. Then he stopped short, and laughed right out loud. "Well, technically, she _could_, but Hermione doesn't really like Apparition." Ron glared at him, obviously not amused. "Come on, lighten up. She'll be here."

"You don't know that," grumbled Ron, picking at the hem of his robe.

"We've done all we can do," Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "All we can do now is wait."

* * *

Hermione checked her reflection in the small mirror in her room at her parents' house.

She had moved back in with her parents - temporarily - until she could find a suitable place in Muggle London as she had planned. There was no way she was getting another apartment in wizarding London; there was just too much of a chance she would run into…well, _certain people_.

Living at home wasn't so bad, she reasoned with herself. There just wasn't any point of keeping the old place. There were too many memories associated with it, and she wasn't about to sit around in the dark all day and let those memories kill her. She had to _live_.

There was no point in being pathetic. She had been overreacting to this whole situation; relationships ended all the time.

It was time to come out of the dark.

This lunch with Harry and Ron would be just the thing to get the ball rolling in her life again.

In an attempt to jump start her new attitude, Hermione decided to take a bus to the Leaky Cauldron. Being outside and in the sunshine would do her a world of good. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd been outside during the day, and _that_, she thought with a frown creasing her forehead, was never a good sign.

Stepping out into the bright sunshine was like being reborn. It was a lovely day, and she took her jacket off to let the sun warm her skin. Her mood skyrocketed.

On the bus, she barely paid attention to the stops as she gazed out the window at the clear blue sky; it seemed to stretch on forever in every direction, punctuated here and there with a soaring bird or puffy white cloud.

" - the Malfoy wedding, yes that's what I was - "

Hermione was jolted suddenly back to Earth - she felt as if the air in her lungs had disappeared. At first she was sure she must have misheard the speaker; she wasn't, after all, listening to the conversation properly - they could have been talking about anything, and her strained subconscious could have fabricated -

" - this afternoon. That's what I said, after what happened between him and Hermione Granger earlier this year, I would never have thought he'd - "

Now she couldn't blame it on her strained subconscious anymore. She was certain she'd heard properly this time; she quickly turned her face to the window so she wouldn't be recognized and she could listen further -

"But here it is, plain as day, front page of the _Prophet. _This afternoon, three o'clock, the _Enchanted _hotel. I honestly didn't think he was up to it, but as long as he's happy. And he _does_ look extremely happy, doesn't he? Astoria is _so_ beautiful, and she'll make a proper Malfoy bride - "

Hermione could listen no more. She fished in her bag for her Christmas present from her parents this year - an mp3 player - and put the ear buds in her ears, drowning out the conversation of the two women in the seat behind her.

When they exited the bus at the next top, Hermione couldn't stop herself from glancing into their empty seat to see if they'd left the paper. They hadn't.

_Deep breaths._

But she couldn't stop her brain from whirring into overdrive at this news.

Draco was getting married. To Astoria Greengrass. This _afternoon._


	16. Chapter 16

"What the hell am I doing? What the hell am I doing?" Hermione asked herself under her breath over and over again as she stumbled off the bus and into a deserted alleyway.

She barely glanced around to make sure no one was watching her; she turned on the spot and felt herself being compressed into nothingness. The next second, she appeared in another alley almost identical to the one she'd just left.

She could have ridden the bus, but that would have taken longer. Time was passing too quickly; she had forgotten completely about lunch with Ron and Harry and two and a half hours had slipped away like sand through her clutching fingers.

Half the time she had spent sitting in that bus seat, staring blankly out the window in utter shock at the news she had just received; the other half she had spent convincing herself she didn't care, rationalizing it until her head was pounding with the words -

_It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. _

And then - like a lightning bolt out of the sky - _I love him._

The words reverberated inside her head over and over, like a chant or a spell, _I love him I love him I love him it matters it matters it matters I've got to try I've got to try - _

And she found herself stumbling out of the alleyway in front of the dilapidated-looking café which was the false front of the _Enchanted_. What she planned to do next she couldn't say; she only knew that she couldn't sit idly by and just let this - event - happen.

Did she plan to stop it? Barge in at the age-old question, "Does anyone here have any reason these two shouldn't be joined?" announce, "I object!" and expect him to come running down the aisle to scoop her into his arms?

She'd been watching too many Muggle romance films.

The truth was that she honestly had no idea what she was doing.

She slipped into the café entrance, the magnificent hotel lobby materializing before her eyes. The whole place seemed deserted. Even the desk clerk was missing; Hermione checked her watch and started.

Three o'clock on the dot. How appropriate.

She sprinted across the lobby. She could hear music from the grand ballroom, the doorway was just around that next corner, if she remembered correctly -

Standing on either side of the huge double doors were guards. Of course. Well, they probably weren't _guards _in the traditional sense; probably something along the lines of - well - the Muggle term "bouncer" echoed inside her head.

And of course this was a guest list she was _definitely _not on.

No hope of trying to pretend to be someone else; she was too well known. There had to be another way in.

As quietly as she could, she made her way back up the corridor and back to the lobby. A small door with a sign that read "Employees Only" looked extremely promising.

Hermione slipped through the door without thinking of what might be on the other side. Her brain seemed to have shut off completely, actually; her only goal just now was to get into that ballroom. Whatever happened after that would take care of itself, somehow, she just knew she had to get that far.

On the other side of the door was a narrow hallway. Hermione followed it. The music was growing louder, and she could now tell what it was.

The Wedding March.

Her feet sped up of their own accord, she was racing down the hall toward the door at the end; somehow she knew that was the right door - she nearly collided with it. She could hear muffled voices now, the music had subsided.

Slowly, she cracked open the door.

The door opened just to the right of the front set of chairs; it appeared to be the door the priest and the groom's party had used to enter the ballroom. She could just see a tall, thin woman in a long, white dress and lacy veil.

Hermione's heart stopped completely and she shut the door with a snap. What the _hell_ was she thinking? What did she think she was doing here, crashing this wedding, sneaking around, peeking through the cracks of doors, planning God knows what - this was madness.

She decided she would be happy with just one last look at him before she let him go forever. Just one last look, and it would be over. She would be fine.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she opened the door again, just a sliver.

Someone was standing directly on the other side of the door, looking back at her.

Hermione fainted dead away.

* * *

"Hermione? Wake up, Hermione," a smooth voice was saying from somewhere miles above her. She fought against the black waters that were holding her down; something about that voice was so familiar -

She came to with a start, eyes fluttering open and half sitting up before she realized what had happened.

Before she realized who was leaning _over_ her.

"You probably should lie back down for a moment, Granger," he said, pushing her shoulders back down firmly. "You've fainted."

"Draco?"

"You were expecting the Minister of Magic? He's actually in the other room; I can get him if you'd like." A smirk played around the corners of his mouth. Even halfway conscious, Hermione couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked in his dress robes - _and what the _hell_ am I thinking? He's getting _married_, you idiot._

"What are you doing here?" she asked stupidly, sitting up anyway, trying to smooth her robes and what was left of her dignity.

"I _really_ should be asking you that, love," he replied with a chuckle, standing up and offering her a hand. Hermione's eyes flew open wide - if he was out _here_, that must mean that everyone in that other room knew she had just passed out at the sight of her ex-fiancé's wedding. This would be all over the _Prophet_ tomorrow and she'd _never_ live it down.

"I meant what are you doing out _here?_ Aren't you supposed to be getting married?" Ignoring his proffered hand, she launched herself to her feet and felt her head spin. The room tilted a bit and she steadied herself on the wall.

"Are you sure you're all right? Do you need a glass of water or something?" Draco's hand was on her shoulder; he seemed to have missed her question, or else was ignoring it completely.

"I'm _fine_," she hissed, jerking her shoulder away. She took a breath and steadied her voice. "Look, I just came to…say goodbye, you know? You shouldn't be out here."

Draco's eyes were suddenly cold. "I thought you already _said_ goodbye."

Hermione's heart gave a pang. "I thought I had, too," she replied simply.

The seconds were slipping by; why was no one looking for them yet? Hermione glanced nervously over Draco's shoulder at the door he'd come through.

"What are you looking for?"

"I'm waiting for people to start wondering where you are and why you aren't back yet."

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "They'll get on without me."

Hermione started. "Without the _groom_?"

Draco looked genuinely confused now. "Did you hit your head when you fell? What do you mean, 'the groom'?"

"_You_," Hermione practically growled at him.

To her immense surprise and utter frustration, Draco actually began to _laugh_.

"You - think - this is - haha - _my _wedding?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, halfway between being infuriated with him and being slightly worried he'd gone mad.

"Whose wedding is it, then?" she asked when he didn't stop laughing; he was now doubled over and clutching his sides.

"Mother and Father are renewing their vows," he managed to choke out, straightening up now and wiping his eyes. "I'm the best man," he added sardonically.

Hermione felt her legs give way again, but this time Draco caught her.

"You-you're not getting married, then?" she breathed. She was now beginning to doubt her own sanity; but if it was a dream, she wasn't sure she actually wanted to wake and go back to being sane.

"No," Draco said firmly. "Were you planning to object if I was?" he added with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"I have no idea what I meant to do," she replied honestly. She suddenly realized he was still holding her up and tried to set herself upright, but he tightened his grip on her.

"Not so fast, Granger," he murmured, pulling her closer and bringing their faces to the same level. "I've just discovered you lurking on the other side of a doorway, plotting to ruin my wedding. I think this means something."

Hermione gasped and tried to push him away, but he only held tighter.

"Do you know what I think it means?"

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing evenly, but she didn't answer.

"I think it means you love me. And I think it means that I am not going to let you run away from me this time. Because I can't wait around until the next time I'm about to get married in order to see you again." He chuckled. "You left your brains at the door and your heart brought you right here. And that's all that matters."

And he kissed her so thoroughly she wasn't able to think of a proper argument.

* * *

**A/N - WHAT?! Trust me, I haven't lost my marbles completely. There will probably be two chapters after this one; if you couldn't tell, we're winding things up here. :) Thanks to everyone who is still reading this and has been here from the beginning...I know it's been a long, rather uninteresting ride, but I'm glad you've hung around. **

**Thanks to Dramione forever (anonymous reviewer) for shaming me and kicking me in the butt simultaneously. Whether you meant me by "the girl who starts stories but never finishes them," or you were talking about someone else, it hit home and I'm making a vow to finish every story I've started before the end of this year. Which, after this one, leaves "Deal With It" and POSSIBLY "Furnace," if that darned old plot won't go away and leave me alone. But I DO promise not to leave my stories unfinished forever. **

**Anyway, I know you're all dying to pelt me with reviews about how this chapter is OOC and, most importantly, doesn't make a lick of sense - there's a method to the madness, though, I guarantee - so I'll go now...ta ta!  
**


End file.
